Remember us
by gayfordiannaagron
Summary: The Vow—Faberry. It's different to the movie, but the premise is the same. Rachel and Quinn are married and a car accident causes Rachel to lose her memories.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from this chapter on wards.**

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><p><em>How do you explain love?<em>

_It starts with a faltering flutter that touches your heart and makes you vulnerable to everything beautiful.  
>It grows from day to day from having contact with that other person who understands your needs.<br>You see beauty where before you'd seen ugliness.  
>You feel glowing inside, so happy without knowing why.<br>You appreciated what before you'd ignored.  
>Your eyes meet with the eyes of the one you love, and you feel reflected in them your own feelings, your own hopes and desires.<br>You share your life in words before you share your body.  
>To be in love is like turning on a light in a dark room.<br>All of a sudden everything becomes bright and visible.  
>You want this love to stay, to never end.<em>

—Virginia Andrews: Fallen Hearts

•••

**December 5th, 2015**

A heavy rain was pouring down, and at one point Quinn rose, pressed her face to the cool window and watched the sheets of water whip across the streets below. Her face left a print of forehead, nose and chin on the glass. She was aware that she should be resting in order to recover from the big accident. Her body ached still, even through the morphine, her injuries hadn't completely healed. The first face she had woken to in the hospital, in her suffering, in the glare of the bright light, was Rachel. On any given night she would dream of horses, endless train journeys, storms. But on this particular night, Rachel pointed to an island in the middle of the ocean. She was luminous, otherworldly, transparent as a ghost.

"Come with me on a boat," she had said. "Across to that island and we'll sing, start a family, migrate some penguins."

As if a dream could prophecy surrender and relief.

Then when she awoke, there was nothing but fear, oceans of it.

It was then that she realized that sleep is the place where a deeper unease can penetrate through sick bone and aching muscle, an unease so fine and lightweight, taking you away from the madness of daylight. When she slept, the sadness is drained and she feels so far removed from the world it's comforting. But there was nothing she can do from the moment she wakes up except to try and make it through the days, hoping to hope that happiness is at the end of the tunnel.

"Rach..." Quinn muttered, sitting beside Rachel's bed. "Please, you have to come back to me. There's so much more we have to do together. I have to teach you how to play video games, ice skating, tennis. You still haven't beaten me in Wii tennis yet, I swear I'll let you win one game," she stroked Rachel's hair and bent down to kiss her forehead. "I love you. You can't leave me."

•••

**November 24th, 2015: 6:25 p.m.**

The evening sun beat hard on the steaming runway. Quinn looked up from the car and scanned the area for her wife of six months, while simultaneously trying to figure out how to pack their car with enough luggage for their first Thanksgiving weekend with their parents as a married couple and still leave room for the two of them plus both of Brittany and Santana's luggage who was hitching a ride with them once they reached Boston.

"Hey, Rach, are you gonna take all day?" Quinn yelled toward the open door to their apartment.

"Here I am." Rachel announced as she appeared in the doorway. She practically hopped—adorably—down the sidewalk towards Quinn, just like the—adorable—insect her aunt had compared her to all these years ago. Quinn couldn't help but watch as Rachel reached the car.

Rachel wedged the few bags she was carrying into the trunk and said, in a sweet voice—"You complete me,"—out of the blue.

Quinn's eyes sparkled and she noticed Rachel blushing deeply. A tingle traveled through her fingers as she laced it through Rachel's, a tingle of happiness that reached her heart and set it pounding. Rachel tilted her head upwards and captured Quinn's lips, pulling her down into a sea of tenderness. It had only been six months since they've been married, granted, they've been together for four years, but this love was a different kind of love, the soft and gentle kind, comfortable, soothing, like a warm pond in summer.

"Tell me you love me," Rachel said when she pulled away. It wasn't a question, it was a simple statement.

"I love you." Quinn whispered against her lips. Before Quinn could lean in for another kiss, Rachel gasped uncharacteristically still. "We're going to be late."

Quinn rolled her eyes. Rachel had taken approximately five hours to get ready this morning because she had written a five page list of the things that she needed to bring on their _weekend_ trip away and instead of packing the previous days, she had decided to pack on the day they were due to leave. Actually, Quinn shouldn't bring that up because Rachel would argue that it was entirely Quinn's fault she wasn't able to pack sooner due to Quinn's libido and every time Rachel did try to pack, they somehow ended up naked in bed. But hey, Rachel wasn't complaining through her orgasms, so yes, Quinn will bring it up just to tease her wife.

"_This_ coming from the girl who—"

"I know what you're going to say, Quinn," Rachel argued. "It's entirely your fault that we will be tardy to our first Thanksgiving with our parents because _you_ couldn't keep it in your pants."

Quinn blinked several times trying to process the words and decipher an appropriate comeback. Finally, she settled with, "I didn't hear—"

"You complaining." Rachel finished. "Did you want me to complain?"

Quinn was slightly flabbergasted at the question. "No, I like that when we have sex is the only time you're less verbal."

Rachel opened her mouth to speak but Quinn captured her lips with a searing kiss. The sensation of her tongue running across Rachel's lips left her speechless and she heard Rachel moan unconsciously.

"We're going to be late." Quinn smiled at Rachel's flushed expression. She closed the trunk and then opened the passenger door for her, who happily obliged.

As Quinn headed to the other side of the car, she thought for a few moments about the amazing things God has given her over the past few years, most notably a new job and a new wife. She couldn't believe that six months had passed since she and Rachel had been on their honeymoon, enjoying the warm sand and tropical paradise of Hawaii. Now, they were headed off for their Thanksgiving holiday, and Christmas was just around the corner. She looked forward to starting many new traditions with Rachel as they celebrate their first major holiday together.

"Hey, baby, are you gonna take all day?" Rachel tried to be serious, but she couldn't do it for long and soon broke out into a huge smile. They laughed as Quinn slipped into the driver's seat, backed out of the driveway and eased into the holiday traffic.

They had a long trip ahead of them, but it was a relatively easy one. They would have the interstate highways the entire time as they made their way through finally ending in Boston where they would be staying the night at Brittany and Santana's apartment, then head to Lima the following day. Originally, they had planned to leave in the morning in order to get to Boston before dark, but Santana had warned them that Brittany had been away for two weeks on tour with her dance group and neither Quinn nor Rachel wanted to endure in listening to their friends getting their _"lady kisses"_ on as Brittany had once referenced it.

Once they reached the Massachusetts border, Quinn started feeling as if she was coming down with a cold. She tried to ignore it because they had a long way to go, but Rachel was insistent they ought to stop for some medicine. Quinn was in no shape to argue with her—who could ever win an argument against the verbally impeccable Rachel Berry?

"Maybe I should drive for a while?" Rachel suggested. "I don't mind. Then you can lie down in the back seat and get some rest,"

Quinn was beginning to feel truly awful, she was sweating in the winter cold and her face was feverish red. "That would be great," she sighed before adding, "I'll make it up to you."

Rachel flashed Quinn her signature smile and kissed her forehead before Quinn tried to climb onto the back seat, stretched her legs out as best she could to try and get comfortable and waited for the medicine to dissolve in her system.

Just passed eleven in the night, they passed through the last big town before the Massachusetts border. Darkness was falling fast and Rachel turned on the headlights, while Quinn finally got into a somewhat comfortable position and was in the early stages of dozing off with her head at the back of the driver's seat and her legs toward the back of the hatchback. Suddenly, she was jolted awake by a firm yell of, "Watch out!" as the car quickly decelerated and swerved to the left. She rose up just in time to feel the impact thrust into the back of Rachel's seat. Having slid her head off the driver's door, she looked in the driver's side mirror and could see headlights zooming towards them, getting larger and larger and then completely filled the mirror in a split second.

The last thing she heard was Rachel's voice, letting out a bone-chilling scream.

•••

**November 25th, 2015**

Santana and Brittany drove up to Massachusetts hospital to stay by her side as Rachel's fathers and her mother were on their way to see them. As comforting as they were, everything scared her. She hated the way Rachel slept, the medicinal smell of the hospital corridors, the nurses who scurried in and out of her room with trays of instruments and bottles, the doctors who wouldn't give her a straight answer. Most of all, she felt that it should've been her in Rachel's position. Rachel despised driving. It was the main reason they never bought a car in the four years they've been together and although Rachel's excuse was—_"We live in an apartment in the center of New York City, and a five minute walk to the subway. We don't need a car that would ultimately be stalled away at the bottom of the garage and collecting tiny particles of dust, not to mention we would have to pay for the insurance, on top of rent and luxuries"—_Quinn knew full well Rachel was apprehensive to driving.

She didn't know when she had drifted into a deep sleep, fretting and tossing, calling out Rachel's name, until an arm shook her and she opened her eyes to see her mother looking down at her. Behind them, she saw Hiram and Leroy Berry beside Rachel's bed, holding her hand, tears falling down their cheeks. Judy took Quinn in her arms soothing her with words of assurance. By this time, she was limp rag, sagging from fear and her tears were constantly streaking no matter how much she wiped her eyes.

"How is she? What did the doctors say?" Hiram asked, not taking his eyes away from Rachel.

"She has a few bruises and swelling," Quinn began. "She's currently in an induced coma to protect her brain and giving it time to heal. She had to get a few stitches because there was a cut to the back of her head."

Hiram and Leroy both moved to hold Quinn in their arms. Quinn felt her chest tighten and deprived of air. When did the room become so tight and crowded?

"I'll go and talk to the doctors and see if we can get her transferred to Lima hospital." Hiram said and kissed Rachel before he left the room.

Quinn's thoughts were all scrambled she hadn't realized what Hiram was saying until he left the room. She was in pain, and exhausted, but most of all she was annoyed that she didn't know the full extent of Rachel's injuries. Piercing through everything else, was the thought that her wife was dead. It wasn't that she wasn't willing to believe that Rachel was dead; she _couldn't_ believe it. She was incapable of accepting the fact that those chocolate eyes were closed forever and she would never see Rachel's bright smile shining up at her. She couldn't believe that the most joyful, most enthusiastic woman she had ever known could be torn from her life so savagely. Her brain simply refused to process the idea that after six months of marriage she was a widower. A _widower_.

Some time later, Hiram returned to the room with an update on Rachel's status. "I spoke to her doctor and they said they've done all they can. Still, she's hanging in there better than anybody thought she would. The doctor has put in a call for an airlift to Lima."

Quinn didn't acknowledge him and continued to stare at Rachel's lifeless body as she has been for the past few hours. Rachel's head and face were so swollen and bruised that nobody would be able to recognize her. Her lips and ears were blue-black, and the swelling was so bad that her eyelids couldn't close all the way. Her body temperature was unstable, so they had to put her in a thermal wrap. To Quinn, it looked like a body bag.

After a moment, Quinn got off the bed and grabbed a hold of Rachel's hand, even through the heated thermal wrap, Rachel's hand was shockingly cold. "We're gonna get through this, Rach," she said. "We're gonna make it." Quinn smiled but felt the tears coming just the same. "Don't you die on me!" Rachel was wearing an oxygen mask and Quinn could hear her breathing, shallow and tentative. "We're in this forever, remember? We've got a long way to go!"

Judy held Quinn in her arms. "Quinn, please get some rest. Rachel certainly wouldn't be happy when she hears that you stayed awake watching over her all this time."

"What if she dies, mom? What am I going to do if she leaves me?" Quinn managed through sobs.

The tears were prickling in the back of Judy's eyes, but she tried to keep them under control to get through this conversation. "Don't say such nonsense, Quinn! Rachel is a strong woman! She would never let something like this keep her away from you."

•••

**November 24th, 2015: 11:33 p.m.**

After they were hit, Quinn couldn't remember hearing anything or feeling any immediate pain, but she recalled every sensation of movement that took place from the moment of impact until their car came to a stop. Her face was suddenly jammed between the driver's seat and the side of the car. Then she rolled over to the other side of the car, where her rib cage hit the wheel well. Next, Quinn experienced a momentary floating sensation, a slow-motion twisting and tumbling like the dream sequence in a movie. She saw sparks and thought the car was on fire. Finally, she felt a strange tingling sensation in her back and a moment later everything was still.

For a few seconds, she was too stunned to say anything as her brain started to clear. When she could think again, she didn't think about the chance that she was bruised, bleeding and in pain. She couldn't feel a thing. All she could think of was her wife.

"Rachel!" She screamed. She was answered with silence. "Rachel!" Quinn knew she could still hear, because she recognised the sound of the car engine running. But there was no answer.

She took a few seconds to look around and get her bearings. After a second she realized the car was on its top and she was lying inside on the roof. The sun-roof had been shattered during the long, final skid, and she had made the last part of that one-hundred and six foot trip on broken glass and pavement.

Once again, she screamed for Rachel, and as the sound of her voice died away, she felt something wet on her face. She tried to raise her hand up to her face to feel for injuries and the motion felt dreamlike, as if it were somebody else's hand. The hand itself didn't seem to be hurt, so Quinn figured the blood was somehow coming from a cut on her head. She tried to stop the splotches by holding her hand away from her face, but they kept coming. The blood ran down her arm and started dripping down onto the broken sun-roof.

When she finally looked up, it was a strange sensation to see everything upside down, seatbacks pointing down at her, no windows where they should have been. Quinn's still-muddled mind finally deciphered that the dripping blood wasn't her own.

Overhead, Rachel was suspended upside down by her seat belt. Her arms dangled limp. Her eyes were closed. She didn't move. They weren't more than a couple of feet apart but Quinn couldn't reach her. Since it was almost dark, she couldn't see Rachel clearly enough to tell what sorts of injuries she might have. Quinn's heart began to pound with the dread that Rachel might even be dead.

"Rachel!" Quinn snapped in her hard-nosed voice, hoping to shock Rachel into waking up. Her eyes didn't open, but she stirred a little. Then she let out a long, ragged, sighing breath and was still again.

Quinn feared she had just heard the last breath Rachel would ever take.

Quinn tried calling Rachel's name again and started trying to get out of the car, but she couldn't move and at first she couldn't figure out why. There wasn't anything on top of her or in the way, and she had a clear shot out of the car through the rear window next to her since the glass was completely gone.

After a few moments she realized she had no feeling in her legs.

She was unable to move from the waist down.

•••

**November 25th, 2015**

The medical flight team got orders to fly Rachel one-hundred and thirty miles to Lima General, they were afraid however, that it would be a wasted trip. It would take a solid hour for the helicopter to get to Dayton, and then another hour before they could get her to Lima General. By then they figured it would likely be too late, Rachel would be dead. But by God's graces, the staff at Lima General took a chance on Rachel, and soon, she was being wheeled out of the emergency room to get ready for the flight.

It was when Rachel's gurney reached the helipad that Quinn realized they had no intention of taking her with them.

"They have to have two medics and a lot of gear to give Rachel any chance of survival," one of the nurses told her. "There's no room for a passenger."

"I'm not a passenger," Quinn argued. "She's my wife!" I'm also a patient with severe injuries of my own, she realized a moment later.

Her argument went unregistered and Santana and Brittany held her back around the waist while she helplessly watched Rachel get carried into the waiting helicopter.

"Hang in there, Rach." She said to no one, and started to sob as she watched the love of her life be rolled up and eased inside the helicopter. She stood there in disbelief as the rhythmic sound of the helicopter overhead motor faded into the distance.

The nurse who had told Quinn that she wasn't able to travel with Rachel in the helicopter turned back to her with sad eyes and said, "Miss, we need to get you back inside. You are in no shape to be standing out here in this freezing weather."

"I need to be with my wife!" She shouted. "Do you not understand how ridiculous it is that I'm here while she's being flown a hundred miles away from me?"

"I'm sorry that the situation couldn't be any different," he pleaded for her to calm down. "But believe me when I say that we have Rachel's best interest. The medics upon the helicopter will do everything they can to keep her alive."

"Quinn," Leroy was by her side with his arm around her shoulders and slowly walked her inside. "We'll take you to Lima General and you can be admitted there for your injuries,"

Understandably, the nurse had heard them and did not agree with Leroy. "We haven't had a chance to examine you clearly for internal injuries. It is not advisable to leave now. By the time you get to Lima, it may be impossible to repair whatever injuries you may have," he paused. "If you leave the hospital now, you may die."

"I don't care," she replied hastily. "If Rachel dies, I don't want to live." She realized a moment later how dramatic that sounded. Something Rachel would no doubt be very proud of if she had heard.

"I believe that if a patient wants to be discharged against medical advise, the hospital is only supposed to release him or her to a relative." Hiram argued the situation. "As you are aware, Quinn's mother is here with her, and assuming Judy will allow her daughter to leave the hospital, you are obligated to let her."

The scruffy haired male nurse gave Judy a questioning but stern look, as if to challenge her. Judy worried her bottom lip between her teeth and looked to Quinn who was shaken beyond belief. Quinn pleaded with her mother silently and a second later, Judy nodded, "Yes." Quinn leaped into her mother's arms and hugged her as best she could manage. "You are to rest when we get to Lima, young lady!" Judy ordered and Quinn couldn't help but laugh at her mother's stern but playful tone.

After all the papers were signed, Santana wrapped Quinn in a blanket, helped get her into the back seat of her car and took off for Lima following the Berrys who was with her mother. Quinn tried various positions in the backseat trying to find one that would allow her to breathe with less pain. Every time she inhaled it felt like her chest was on fire. Looking up through the window, she watched the lights zoom down the interstate.

"Rachel will make it, Q," she heard Santana say. "That short stack has always been a fighter!"

"Besides," Brittany's voice came. "She told me yesterday that she had a story to tell me, and I asked her what it was on the phone but she said that I had to wait until we saw each other. You know how I don't like surprises so I kept begging her but she wouldn't relent so I said to her, do you promise to tell me?, and she said, Yes, of course I do, Brittany. I always keep my promises. So, you see, Q, Rachel will come back because she promised me she'll tell me the story."

Quinn had stopped listening when she heard the word _relent. _Apparently, Santana felt the same. "B, did you just say relent?"

From Quinn's position at the back, she saw Brittany nodding happily. "Rachel gave me a word of the day calender as a gift for my new job."

"How come I've never seen it at home?"

"Because you're smart, silly. I hid it so I can surprise you with big words."

"You're smart too, baby. Don't ever think that you're not,"

"I'm not super smart like Rachel. I want to out-win her the next time we see each other so she can hear all the big words I've learnt."

"Outdo," Quinn and Santana corrected simultaneously.

"See, even when Rachel's not here, the two of you are correcting me like she does. Her cute little habits have grown on you."

Quinn silently agreed with Brittany, and so did Santana because she remained quiet in her position. They've come a long way from the enemies they once were in high school to a close family. Their friendship has enhanced her happiness and overall well-being during this difficult time, especially since both have ceased Thanksgiving with their families to accompany Quinn.

There wasn't much conversation during the remainder of the trip. Every once in a while Brittany would turn around and ask Quinn, "Are you alright, Q?" With a hopeful smile.

Quinn's internal response was always, No. My wife is dying, and I might be dying too. We've only been married for twenty-six weeks and now it might be all over in a matter of hours_. _But all Quinn could say was, "I'm doing alright."

By the time they hit the ramp to the interstate, Santana was going one-hundred and ten miles per hour, in and out of freezing rain. And for the third time in twelve hours, Quinn tried to find a comfortable position in the back seat. She was gurgling more with every breath, unable to get enough air into her lungs. Inhaling deeply had gone from painful to impossible. Through it all, there were times when she thought she would never take another breath. The broken ribs had severely damaged her lungs and she felt as if she was slipping away.

When they were five blocks from Lima General, Brittany called the emergency room and told them to be ready for Quinn when they arrived. It had been ten hours since the accident, and she still hadn't received much more than basic first aid. By the time they rounded the last corner and pulled up to the emergency entrance, a crowd was waiting—doctors, nurses... the Berrys and her mom? Quinn could swear she thought their car was only about a mile or two ahead from Santana's, she didn't know when they had time to park the car and wait for her at the hospital.

Someone tried to open the door and Quinn tried to get out of the car on her own. Judy looked at her daughter in concern, and Quinn watched as her expression turned first to shock and then to horror. Then Judy disappeared from her line of vision, crowded out by orderlies and doctors huddling around and trying to help get her out of the car. They were talking to one another and back to her so fast she couldn't understand what was going on.

"Where's Rachel? Is she okay? _Where _is she?" Quinn shouted above all the noise as loud as she could. It seemed as if no one was listening. "Someone please tell me what's happened to my her!"

All of a sudden, a familiar voice broke through the chaos. "Coming through! Out of the way!" It was Santana, her female knight in shining armor. Santana knew her friend's first priority was to find Rachel, not for the medical staff to take care of her. Quinn soon saw Santana come barreling through the mob, pulling nurses and other staff away as she stood in front of Quinn. "Okay, no one is touching or moving my friend until she gets her answer! What is happening with her wife, damnmit!"

A male doctor who looked to be in his early fifties with a rough beard sighed and said, "She's hanging in there, Quinn. We're still working on her in the ICU."

Quinn felt a relief flood through her as she sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the powers above that is Santana and her fierceness.

Once Santana was out of the way, Quinn was rushed into the emergency room and within minutes physicians and nurses scattered in every direction to carry out their demands. She learnt that due to the knot they had discovered behind her ear, they thought she might have brain swelling and permanent damage.

One of the doctors asked where she felt the most pain. "My back," she answered. "I can hardly move without pains shooting all the way up and down."

While the doctors worked on her, Quinn kept asking Judy how Rachel was doing. During those long and physical agonizing hours the only thing she wanted was for her mother to relieve her emotional and mental agony by telling her that Rachel was going to recover. The admitting physician at Massachusetts had given Rachel a less than one percent chance of recovery, Rachel's only hope was a miracle.

The emergency team set Quinn's broken hand back into place, worked at her ribs, gave her sedative and got her ready to be admitted. Not a second after they had finished working on her, she said, "I want to see Rachel as soon as possible,"

"After you're admitted, you won't be able to go see Rachel." Someone explained.

"Then you're not admitting me!"

"Quinn..." She heard her mother's soft voice in the distance.

The hospital staff tried to argue with her, but she refused to listen, and in the end they complied with her request only if she showed some stability. They warned her about what she was going to see. She was told to prepare for a huge shock when she saw the extent of Rachel's injuries and the vast amount of machines in her room.

What amazed Quinn the most when she saw Rachel was that she hadn't needed surgery, but because she had a brain injury she had every possible life support machine hooked up to her. She was tied down to the table, and she was straining against the straps and flailing around with seizures. Her eyes and lips were still deep purple and there were tubes going into her mouth and nose and others disappearing under the sheets, and there were IV lines going into both arms and one foot. There was a probe called the camino bolt drilled into her head to measure the pressure between the brain and the skull, with wires coming out of her head and connecting to some of the monitors that literally filled the room.

She was sedated and couldn't talk, but Quinn was desperate to receive some kind of communication from her. She got up out of her wheelchair and grabbed a hold of Rachel's hand.

"It's me, baby," she said softly. "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

Due to the plethora of other, more urgent injuries, she didn't yet know the cool, white hand she held so gingerly was broken. Quinn saw no reaction on Rachel's face as she spoke... but she squeezed.

A flicker of hope flared Quinn's insides. Rachel was still in there. Somewhere under all those wires and tubes she was still alive. While it was seemingly a small thing, Quinn was ecstatic.

•••

**November 24th, 2015: 11:52 p.m.**

Quinn didn't know how long she had been struggling in her position to try and reach Rachel, but at last she heard another voice, except it wasn't the voice she had hoped to hear. "Give me your hand! I'll help you out!"

She turned to the window and looked straight into the face of a stranger, their very own Good Samaritan.

"I can't move my legs," she shouted back.

"Turn the motor off! This thing could explode any minute."

After a moment of confusion, she realized the man was talking to someone to his left. At the stranger's command, the man reached back in to get to the ignition. "The key's broken off," he said.

"You've got to get it turned off!" The stranger demanded.

After some desperate jiggling and twisting, the ignition switch turned and the engine fell silent.

"Okay, I'm coming in to get you." The man said. Dropping to his stomach, he army crawled through the window beside Quinn. She grabbed him around the shoulders, and he held on to her with one hand while he used the other to help scoot them backward out of the car and over to the grass beside the highway.

The drivers of the other two vehicles involved in the crash had no visible injuries. The same could not be said of Quinn and Rachel. Not only was Quinn in bad shape physically; she was also numb with shock. All she could think about was Rachel trapped inside the twisted-up car a few feet away, looking like she was either bleeding to death or already dead. Her head was caught between the steering wheel and the roof where the top had been crushed during the rollover. Quinn realized that if she'd been driving she would have been killed instantly, because she wouldn't have fit in the space remaining after the impact and her skull would have been crushed.

Within minutes the police and ambulances started arriving. It was obvious that Rachel would have to be cut out of the car, but the EMTs were afraid to wait that long to start treatment. So one of them, crawled inside the car—not mentioning that she had severe claustrophobia—and started giving Rachel IVs and monitoring her vital signs as she was still hanging upside down from the seat belt.

Rachel seemed to drift in and out of consciousness; her pupils alternately constricted and dilated—a classic symptom of severe brain injury.

When they arrived at the emergency room hospital, Quinn was immediately taken to get an X-ray and CT scan. The medical personnel had discovered a big knot behind her left ear that they thought might indicate a skull fracture. When she was finished, Rachel was already being given life-saving treatment in another area of the ER, so Quinn wasn't able see her, but she knew the news wouldn't be good. After all, Quinn had seen her in the crumpled car, and it had taken them more than half an hour to cut her out of it.

Nobody would give her a straight answer about Rachel's condition. How was she doing? Was she going to recover? Was she going to be okay? Quinn later learned that when one of the ambulance technicians heard Rachel was still alive hours after being admitted to the hospital, she refused to believe it. She had never seen anyone survive such massive head trauma.

As soon as Rachel had arrived at the hospital, the medical staff turned all their attention to her, which didn't draw any complaints from Quinn. The ER team had given her some preliminary treatment, but she didn't want to take any sedative or have any other work done until she knew what was happening with Rachel. An hour later when a doctor approached her, his manner was professional and confident, but when she looked in his eyes she could tell he was exhausted. He handed her a little manila envelope.

"Miss Fabray, I'm terribly sorry."

Quinn couldn't formulate a response before the doctor left the room. There was nothing to do but investigate the contents of the envelope. She opened it with her good hand and slid the items out into the broken one, staring down at the wedding ring she had given to Rachel.

When Quinn gave her that ring, she had made a vow to protect her through times of challenge and need. This was definitely a time of both challenge and need, but she felt helpless.

•••

**November 28th, 2015**

Cool nights came and went; long days that were full and mostly sad. _If only_. If only were the words that started off her mornings and finished off her nights. If only she could re-live that moment all over again, then perhaps she could've saved Rachel. If only she had taken better care of herself, then they wouldn't have stopped for medicine and Rachel wouldn't have felt the need to offer to drive. If only she had sat in the passenger seat rather than the back, then perhaps she could've held Rachel back during the moment of impact.

Everything that mattered to her was breathing from a tube, strapped to monitors, and being fed through her veins. She was stuck in her own nightmare.

News of Rachel's health and the accident traveled into the media and soon there were paparazzi waiting outside the hospital and at one point, Quinn could see a man trying to climb the building in hopes of getting a photo of Rachel lying on her bed, but he failed miserable after trying to climb to the first floor. In the corner of her room were balloons and presents from their friends, Rachel's Broadway friends and her many fans were sending gifts and 'get well' wishes via Twitboomblr—a combination of Twitter, Facebook and Tumblr. It was only a matter of time before the three social networking sites banded together. Quinn had to admit, it did make things more simpler for users. Quinn had checked it several times in the past few days and Rachel had been trending ever since. She screen capped it on her iPhone-10[S] to show Rachel when she woke up.

The doctors spent a lot of time that day explaining Rachel's situation. Quinn learned that there were two major problems, one of which made the other more serious. The first and most dangerous issue was the swelling in her brain. This swelling constricted the flow of blood to her brain cells, and they were starved for the nutrients and oxygen that the blood normally brought in. The second concern was that her blood pressure was dangerously low. Even without any other complications, low pressure would have reduced the blood flow to the organs, especially the brain, eventually resulting in damage due to a lack of oxygen. The bottom line was that swelling plus low blood pressure was a double whammy. Earlier during the week, they had gotten a sign she wasn't paralyzed when she had wiggled her fingers and toes. Still, the doctors said, every minute the brain had insufficient oxygen increased the chances she would have permanent brain damage. The pressure on her brain had gone down for a while, but then it spiked up again without warning. They estimated it would take between twenty-four and forty-eight hours for the swelling to go back down and the oxygen supply to be completely restored. By that time, if she were still alive, Rachel would be in a permanent vegetative state.

Quinn, the Berrys, her mom and everyone else had learned how to read the various monitors in the room, and spent the better part of the next few days watching the numbers go up and down. Mere numbers on a screen were the indicators of life and death, and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do but sit and watch them change, hoping they would move in the right direction.

•••

The highway patrolman's report said that at approximately 11:30 p.m. on November 24, 2015, 5.7 miles east of the Massachusetts state line, a white Ford Escort was involved in a collision with two trucks. Later investigations revealed that a red flatbed truck with a load of car parts had started having engine trouble as it traveled. As a result, the driver slowed to about twenty-five miles per hour in the right lane. Travelling at a normal interstate speed, Rachel came up behind the truck, which was hidden in a cloud of black smoke produced by a defective fuel filter. During the day, the smoke would have been visible, but as night had fallen, Rachel had been unable to see it from a distance.

Though the flatbed's emergency flashers weren't on, Rachel eventually saw slow-moving taillights loom into view through the exhaust cloud, braked hard, and swerved to the left. At the same moment a pickup truck following too close behind their car closed in on them. The right front fender of their Escort clipped the left rear corner of the flatbed. Then as the car started to spin and Rachel struggled for control, the pickup came from behind and rammed into the driver's side of their Ford car. The impact sent their car careening into the air. It sailed thirty feet, slammed back to the ground, rolled one and a half times, then slid upside down for one hundred and six feet and stopped on the shoulder of the road.

•••

**December 1st, 2015**

Quinn felt so far removed from everything that sometimes she had no tears left to express her fears. There was a chasm between where she is and the world. The world where she moves her feet through, the atmosphere she breathes feels thick and painful, like a swamp. And she's wading through that swamp that her body has become. Her head throbbed. The room felt stuffy. Her eyes were puffy. Her internal injuries made it hard for her to move on a daily basis. But she had to ignore everything and try to find sleep, pray that Rachel will wake up. Still, she found it impossible to live in hope and think about the future when she can hardly think about the present.

Over the next few days Quinn did her best to rest up and get some of her own strength back. She couldn't yet stand up straight due to the injuries to her ribs and back, but several times a day she would slowly make her way to Rachel's room. Rachel continued to remain stable, and five days after the accident, she was moved from the ICU to acute care and taken off life support.

When she saw Rachel's fathers talking to her doctor, she ran to the room in quick speed, startling the men. "What happened? Is she okay?"

"Quinn, sweetie, you shouldn't be out of bed," Hiram led her over to the chair. "You're still recovering."

Quinn ignored him. "What happened?"

"We've done all we can," the doctor gave Quinn a sympathetic expression. "She's hanging in there better than anyone thought she would. She's strong and she's in excellent physical condition."

The door that had seemed shut and sealed only thirty seconds ago had miraculously opened a crack.

"When will she recover?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. Induce comas vary from the severity of the person's injury," he said patiently. "However, the longer a person is in a coma, often, the longer it is for them to recover functions that are lost and regaining consciousness." He sighed and bowed his head. "Recovery may be to full as before functionality, loss of some functionality or great disability."

Quinn began to sink, she felt she was drowning, going under in that same old familiar pool of hopeless despair. She was jerking with sobs and Hiram ran his hands up and down her back. "She will wake up, won't she?"

"Yes,," the doctor answered. "The coma is temporary, to help reduce the swelling of her brain and to also break the constant overwhelming immune strain being exerted in the body."

Leroy was beside Quinn, grabbing a hold of her hand. "She'll survive, she'll get through this."

The doctor went on. "All I can encourage you to do is talk to her about yourselves, try to remind her of what her life is like, the people who love her. She continually remains very responsive. Rachel is definitely still in there."

•••

**December 5th, 2015**

Rachel was beside her breathing with the help of a tube. Slow, long, deep breaths. She imagines Rachel's soul going in and out: wanting to leave, wanting to come back. Please come back to me, Quinn said to nobody. I need you. We're meant to be together, you can't leave me. And when Rachel's fingers twitch for the first time in two weeks, she felt entirely dislocated from the world.

The doctors weren't as excited as Quinn was by Rachel's response. From their point of view, it was still much more likely that she would die than live. It wasn't long before a few of their friends arrived from Lima to witness her recovery. Like many others, they had spent the agonizing hours of the previous nights crying and praying for a miracle. As is usually the case, the visiting hours in the acute care recovery area were strictly limited. Only immediate family members were supposed to be allowed, and only for thirty minutes at a time.

Even though Rachel was fairly alert on rare occasions, she was technically still in a coma. She slept most of the day, but since the life support tubes had been removed from her throat, there was a possibility that she might talk. Quinn had been desperate for the sound of her voice ever since she had screamed for Rachel in the seconds after the wreck. There had been so many times when she had thought she would never hear it again, never hear her sing, laugh and whine. Quinn had even been having dreams that Rachel was talking to her. Still, it was only a possibility. It had been two weeks and Rachel has yet to open her eyes.

With the doctor's permission, Quinn was feeding Rachel some ice chips. When she touched a small piece to Rachel's lips, she would eat it from Quinn's fingers. Her lips weren't so purple anymore—they were very pale and dry—but Quinn felt their warmth and the whisper of Rachel's breath on her skin. After feeding her a few more chips, Quinn put her face inches from Rachel's.

"I love you, Rach," she said softly.

"I love you, too."

Quinn couldn't believe it! Rachel had not only spoken, but she had said the words she had most wanted to hear. _Her_ Rachel was back. Just hearing those words made her know things would be fine.

Quinn notified the doctors immediately and they began to check her status with their stethoscope for heart and breath sounds and using the slit lamp to check her cornea at the back of the retina. Their answer to Rachel's declaration of love was just a reflexive response. They claimed she likely didn't understand what either of Quinn nor herself was saying; her brain just knew that "I love you too" was the default response to "I love you." From a medical standpoint Quinn knew that was true. But for a woman who was desperate to get her wife back, those words gave her hope. They were yet another step on the road back for them, even though there was still no way to know how fully she would recover.

•••

**December 11th, 2015**

Three weeks after the accident, slowly, almost in slow motion, Quinn watched her eyelids flutter. They opened and closed a few times, and she wasn't not sure where she is. The color returned to her cheeks. She was beginning to take it all in. Her eyes focused on the light above, then they darted from each person around her: Brittany, Santana, Leroy, Hiram, Judy, Puck, Kurt, Mercedes and then finally, Quinn.

Quinn felt several things at once. She felt relieved because Rachel is going to be okay. She felt her heart ache with so much joy. Above all, she felt the thing that feels like love.

In the rare instances when Rachel's eyes were open, they were frozen in a doll-like stare. She looked at things without any flicker of recognition, and it was obvious she had no idea what was going on. Part of the short-term solution for her recovery ended up being very simple. After wondering about her lack of focus, Leroy and Hiram suddenly realized that she probably couldn't see well. Rachel was partially blind and may need her reading glasses for the time being until she was recovering more sufficiently. Once they did put them on her, the difference was immediate. She was a lot more aware of her surroundings during the moments she was awake. The first thing she focused on was a plate of Jell-O across the room, and it caused her to become more animated than she had been up to that point. Quinn was overjoyed when she began to focus more on her when Quinn talked to her. It was a tiny victory that moved them closer to the day when she would have her Rachel back.

Rachel soon started sitting up, then standing, then taking a few shuffling steps across the room and back with an attendant on both sides of her. However, even with the help, she was barely able to lift her feet off the floor. Her right foot was dragging and her wrist was curled up. It was obvious she had neurological damage. It was difficult to watch such an accomplished dancer struggle so much just to put one foot in front of the other. But the fact that she could move at all was a sign that she would likely regain her balance and coordination enough so that she could walk on her own again one day. She knew how to walk; she just wasn't strong enough to do it yet.

It wasn't long before she was allowed to eat pudding and other soft foods. As she was unable to feed herself at that point, Quinn or Rachel's fathers would feed her while she sat propped up in the bed.

Sometimes she would look at Quinn or at the food, but much of the time she simply stared straight ahead at the wall.

Quinn's broken bones were on the mend, and according to the surgeons amazingly enough, in a few months no one would be able to tell she had ever injured them. But her back was another story. She was in constant pain. Though the cuts from the sun-roof glass were healing, she had searing nerve pains shooting up and down her spine. She never knew when they would come or how long they would last.

Once Rachel was on the road to recovery, Judy encouraged Quinn to turn a little bit of her focus to filing insurance claims and organizing the medical paperwork that was already starting to stack up. During their first days at the hospital, when Rachel was still in a coma, Quinn had gotten a call from one of the emergency equipment providers. Much to her dismay, they already wanted to know when they might expect their check. She hadn't realized the financial pressure would begin so soon.

In the midst of all the stress and uncertainty, Quinn was beginning to wonder if she could keep it all together. Rachel had an unknown level of brain damage, she was in a state of constant pain and worry, and she was already being pressured to start paying the astronomical medical bills. How was she going to cope? At times she would momentarily forget about the enormity of the situation while she remembered the few happy moments or funny things that had happened over the past three weeks. But then she would start thinking of Rachel lying in the dark in her hospital bed, taking one slow breath after another. Would one of those breaths be her last?

•••

**December 19th, 2015**

After only a short time in therapy, Rachel was obviously improving. Each morning she seemed stronger, more alert, and more talkative. The disturbing stare was nearly gone and she was beginning to interact more naturally in conversations. The therapists were still being very careful with her, though. They had her move slowly, walk with a harness, and work simple puzzles. Once she could understand conversations and answer questions, the doctors started assessing her memory and other mental skills. At first she sounded like a little girl when she responded to questions. She would speak in a few one and two syllable words after long pauses. She had to concentrate hard on what she would say, shaping the words slowly and carefully as though they felt unfamiliar. Yet she improved every day.

The therapist suggested Rachel keep a journal and jot down anything she could remember. She slowly and painstakingly dictated the words while Hiram wrote them down. "Life is very good. Therapy is very confusing at times, but my Dads are here to support me as they always do and I love them all the more. I can't wait to emerge from the contents of this room and enjoy one of daddy's home cooked meals."

It wasn't long after that Quinn sat with Rachel, who was talking with a therapist that was probing carefully for what she could remember. Her words, _my Dads are here to support me, as they always do,_ had been the first sign that things were slowly moving towards normal. The use of her extensive vocabulary in that short sentence was also another good sign. Now, Quinn was ready for even bigger proof. She wanted _her_ Rachel back.

"Rachel," her therapist began in a soothing voice, "Do you know where you are?"

Rachel thought for a minute before replying, "Lima General."

"That's right, Rachel. Do you know what year it is?"

"2010."

Well, that was the year we first won Regionals, Quinn thought, somewhat frantically. That's just a little setback—nothing to really worry about. She's probably still excited about that, Quinn tried to convince herself.

"Who's the president, Rachel?"

"Barack Obama."

Well, he was the president in that year_, _she justified.

"Rachel, what's your mother's name?" The therapist continued.

"Shelby Corcoran." She said with no hesitation and no expression.

Now we're getting somewhere. Thank you, God!

"Excellent, Rachel. And what are your fathers' name?"

"Hiram and Leroy Berry."

"That's right. Very good." He paused before continuing, "Rachel, who's your wife?"

Rachel looked at Quinn with eyes void of expression. She looked back at the therapist without answering.

"Rachel, who's your wife?"

Rachel looked at Quinn again and back at the therapist. Quinn was sure everyone could hear her heart thudding as she waited for Rachel's answer in silence and desperation.

"My—my wife?"

No! God, please!

"Yes, Rachel, your wife."

"But—" She protested. "I'm not gay! Just because I have two gay fathers does not mean I am the stereotypical daughter."

The therapist tried again. "Rachel, you're married."

She wrinkled her brow. "To Finn?" She questioned.

Finn? That frankenteen with the constant dopey expression on his face! Quinn couldn't believe what she was hearing. Rachel was playing a prank on her, this was her revenge for making her drive that car when Quinn knew well that Rachel despised driving.

"Rach, this isn't funny," Quinn was desperate.

"I'm not laughing." She answered bluntly.

"Rachel, please think. You're married now. Who are you married to?" The therapist said patiently.

"If it's not Finn, then I don't know who else I could possibly be married to."


	2. Chapter 2

**All chapters will jump from the present to the past.**

**Side note: All text/chat mistakes are on purpose.**

* * *

><p><em>She said, hello mister, pleased to meet you<br>I wanna hold her, I wanna kiss her  
>She smelled of daisies, she drive me crazy<br>Be my lover, my lady river  
>Can I take you, take you higher<br>Gonna hold you, gonna kiss you in my arms  
>Gonna take you away from harm<br>Gonna take you for a ride on a big jet plane_

—Angus & Julia Stone: Big Jet Plane

•••

**December 19th, 2015**

When Rachel made her declaration of singleness in such a matter-of-fact way, it felt like someone had thrust a knife deeply into Quinn's chest. She looked deep into those chocolate orbs she loved so much, praying for even the slightest hint that Rachel recognized her. Rachel sure did recognize her, but not in the manner Quinn had grown accustomed to. Rachel looked at her with the gaze of a stranger. Until that point Quinn had hoped that Rachel, at some level, knew that they were at least friends.

"Rachel, please try and remember me," Quinn pleaded.

"I do remember you, Quinn," she answered slowly. "We go to the same school. You're in glee club and you don't say a minimal of more than two words to me on a weekly basis. Unless I try to hold the conversation."

Quinn cringed at the memory. She hadn't behaved in any way like her seemingly prudish, bitchy high school self toward Rachel the moment she knew she was in love with her. "Rach, we're more than that. Please try to remember us." Quinn sat on the bed and placed her hand on top of Rachel's.

Rachel felt her hesitation but otherwise did not remove them from beneath her grip. "Are we—I mean, do you even like me? You have in no way gave me the allusion that you like me."

"We're in love, Rachel," she blurted instantly. "I love you."

Quinn leaned forward, her heart almost plunging out of her ribcage, beating at one-hundred beats per minute. For a moment Quinn's heart leapt at the thought that Rachel would say, _I love you too—_an automatic response as the doctor had pointed out. It was also _their_ automatic response—but Rachel gazed deep into Quinn's hazel eyes with nothing but questions running through them. Then, the reply came,

"Quinn, you're being ridiculous. How can you love me? We don't even know each other."

Rachel's therapist—Dr. Kev – Kelv—_something—_interrupted their conversation by shaking his head lightly at her and warning her not to speak any further. "Quinn, may I discuss something with you outside?"

No! She wanted to say. I have to make Rachel remember me no matter how long it takes. Instead, she nodded and he led her outside, closing the slide door behind him. "The accident may have caused two kinds of amnesia—"

"_May? It may?_ Oh, Doc, I think it already has! My wife doesn't remember me!" She said fiercely but low enough that only he could hear.

The therapist continued as if he were never interrupted. "The first is post-traumatic amnesia, and that is basically a temporary confusion about where she is and what's going on around her. For Rachel, this has already worn away and it would soon disappear completely."

"You think?" Was Quinn's hasty reply. She knew there was something about this therapist she didn't like from the moment she saw him.

"The second type is retrograde amnesia, a permanent loss of short-term memory."

"How short is short-term?" Hearing him say those words was more distressing than she had imagined. "It seems to me that she can't remember anything about _me_. How we met, dated, gotten engaged, married, our honeymoon and our life together in New York!"

"She seems to remember you, but not the years you fell in love."

Well, no shit! His explanation of Rachel's diagnosis was not in the most encouraging way. "So, basically, five years?"

He seemed wary of the anger flashing in Quinn's eyes, but nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."

"That's all you've got to say? _Sorry?_ What am I supposed to do? My wife doesn't remember me!"

The therapist took a step back when Quinn raised her voice and pierced him with her eyes. "It's not certain that she has forgotten everything about you. Retrograde amnesia can sometimes be temporary and when Rachel is able to return to her life with you, she may begin to remember."

Quinn couldn't handle any more of the doctor's nonsense blabbering and staggered away from him and into the hallway. It hit her then that Rachel had no idea who she was and how much they meant to each other. When Rachel looked at her all she saw was the girl who tortured her in high school. Quinn balled her hand into a fist and began hammering the wall. Even the searing pain in her broken hand—still in a soft cast—couldn't penetrate her rage.

Though the therapist mentioned that Rachel still had a chance to recover part of her lost memory, Quinn knew there was also a chance that there will be some things she won't ever remember. The most agonising question was: _Would one of those things be me?_ She quickly put the thought from her mind. She couldn't bear to contemplate the fact that her wife might never remember her.

As fierce as her reaction was, it quickly faded. Spent and defeated, she went to the gift shop and then walked back into Rachel's room and stood beside her bed. Rachel glanced up at her without anger or curiosity. She just seemed to be waiting for Quinn to speak. When she finally was able to open her mouth, she found she had nothing meaningful to say.

Instead, she handed Rachel the dozen white roses she had bought and said, "Happy Birthday for yesterday."

•••

**August 11th, 2011.**

Strange feelings come over Quinn sometimes, kind of like déjà vu, only before it happens. Its sort of like she knows what's heading her way. Up out of nowhere came these feelings when she woke this morning that the next few months was when everything changed. The sun grew larger and larger as it climbed and the morning began to take on color. The water around the lake house turned from dark grey to silver to a luminescent orange. She stood over the railing and watched a dolphin coming through the water with immense power. For the first time in weeks it seemed she had left behind a complex world—Lima and high school and all the scatterings of her past—and came here to a land of propulsion.

It had been a somewhat boring couple of weeks with her grandmother. Quinn protested and pleaded with her mother but the woman would hear none of it, insisting that Quinn stay with her grandmother for the remaining weeks of summer vacation. There were lots of moments in front of the television, knitting, baking, drinking tea, eating cakes and sweets but worst of all—worst on Quinn's part—there was talking. From the moment she stepped into the door her grandmother wanted to know everything about her life—boys, classes, grades, sports, hang outs, friends. There was no escaping.

The house was rambling and cool and she loved waking up to watch the sunrise. She breathed deeply in the salty breeze, the sun was setting out over the ocean and then the sun began to rise back east above the mainland. For about ten minutes, the sun was just above the respective horizon, and for that very moment she felt truly in an inverted world where all experiences would be new.

That is until she heard the loud ringing of her cell phone and scurried to answer it before it woke her grandmother.

"Q!" It was Santana, sounding excited (which was rare). "Have you received my emails?"

With a roll of her eyes, Quinn answered, "Yes."

"Then why have you not joined? I have sent you a request about ten times,"

"_Fifty-three_," Quinn corrected. "What the hell is this thing? I searched it up on the internet and it didn't look as interesting as you've described it."

"Are you kidding me?" Santana bellowed so loud Quinn took the phone away from her ears. "This is a phenomenon! I am threatening you to join."

"And what if I don't?" She challenged.

"Then when you come back from living in paradise for the past three weeks, you'll be the social outcast,"

"It is _not_ that phenomenal! It's a social networking site. You said Facebook was a phenomenon and made me join that too."

"This is _different_! Join and prove it to me it's not as great as I say, Tubbers! I have to get back to checking my dash, I have fifteen new notifications." With that Santana hung up the phone and Quinn was left a little bewildered.

She sat in front of her laptop and sighed as she typed in the webpage: _tumblr dot com_. She sighed again when she typed in her email address and password, chose an appropriate and clever url: _clickhereforquinn, _and _again _sighed when she hovered her mouse over: _start posting_.

It didn't take her all that long to feel dull and disinterested when the first page loaded. She had no idea what to do. There was a blank avatar on the side, seven pictures with titles consisting of what she would be able to upload or do on this so called tumblr of hers and arrows pointing to _make your first post_ and _pick your theme_. Other than that, the page was completely blank, and blue.

She took out her phone and typed in a message to Santana: **All right, I joined. Now what?**

Her reply was swift.** Now post something. Follow people. What's ur tumblr name?**

She received three notifications within three seconds in her email stating that _iloveduckies-andsantana_, _fuckyeahimsantanalopez_ and _puckasaurusindahouse_, started following her. She rolled her eyes at the urls, clicked the _follow_ button and within seconds her dashboard began to light up with images of supermodels, quotes, celebrities, food, photography, cars and the list went on.

While she discovered the phenomenal behind tumblr and began to toggle with the different settings, themes, and posts of her own, Santana's voice started easing itself into the front of her mind. Oh, this isn't a phenomenon, you say? Who is starting to enjoy this now, I say?

Oh, it was phenomenal, all right.

Quinn didn't sleep that night. At all.

•••

**December 20th, 2015**

Due to all the stress and drama of the past few weeks, it took Quinn a while to remember that she wasn't really helpless at all. She had forgotten that God's miracles were only a prayer away. Her mom had always taught her that prayers weren't always answered the way we want, and she hadn't gotten to thank him for bringing Rachel back to her—even under the circumstances, she was thankful Rachel was alive. So, she went in search for the hospital's chapel and got on her knees and spoke softly,

"God, I haven't done this for a long time. I know I haven't always been the best Christian, but you gave me the strength to continue with my life when I was sixteen and I am thankful for that every day. Today I come to you in prayer. I ask you to touch Rachel with your healing hand so that she will be able to recover from the accident, and I ask that you give us both the strength to find our way back to each other."

It turned out; she wasn't the only one praying for Rachel.

"That was really beautiful, Quinn." Hiram said softly.

He startled her when she gazed up to see him beside her. Before answering, she wiped the tears away from her eyes. "Thank you." she looked around for Leroy but he was nowhere to be seen. "You're here alone?"

"Yes, Leroy and Judy went to get some coffee."

Quinn had wondered where her mother had gotten to this morning. "I hope they come back with the good kind and not the hospital's vending machine kind."

He laughed heartedly. "A joke? You haven't made one in weeks,"

"And I haven't heard you laugh in weeks." She responded with a laugh of her own.

"Laughter is the best medicine, they say."

Quinn linked her arm with Hiram and they made their way back to Rachel's room. Quinn couldn't help but think how she was going to adapt to her new life. She was afraid one minute, mad the next and everlastingly confused. All kinds of questions flew through her mind. What will life be like now? What kind of person will Rachel turn out to be? Will she always be different? Is the young woman she married still in there, or is she gone for good? When will she know Rachel's recovery has stopped—that she has improved as much as she's going to? She couldn't sleep most nights, she couldn't relax, and she couldn't get rid of the stress.

In the short distance they were to Rachel's bedroom, Quinn heard her tiny voice. "Santana, Brittany? What are you two doing here? Where's Finn?" Her heart did crazy leaps in her chest. Though it felt more like it was going to break.

_Where's Finn?_

"Rachel, I'm so glad you're okay." Brittany wrapped a shocking and surprised Rachel in her arms. "You smell like hospital food, but you still smell nice." Quinn couldn't see Brittany's face from her position in the doorway, but she pictured Brittany's soft eyes shining down at her. "I'm so glad you're doing better. We've missed you so much."

Santana rolled her eyes and patted Rachel on her back. It seemed Santana wanted to hug her, but refused to do it in front of a crowd. "Glad you're back, short stack."

The incredulous expression on Rachel's face remained as Quinn walked into the room. "Don't scare her, San."

"What's happening?" Rachel asked softly. "Is this real life?"

"Of course it is," Brittany answered and plopped herself on the bed. "If it weren't real life, you would be dreaming."

"I am so confused right now." Rachel pouted. "Why are you two here and where's Kurt, Mercedes and Tina?"

"They're with their families, Rach. Just like you're with yours." Brittany pulled the blanket up past Rachel's waist. "Are you comfortable? Do you need me to get you anything?"

"Uh—no. I'm... good,"

Santana didn't miss the confusion in Rachel's voice. "What's wrong, short stack? You look like you've seen a ghost. Oh no, your psychic abilities aren't kicking in are they?" She laughed but was slightly upset when Rachel didn't. "I was joking."

"If I may say, your jab at my height is not doing well to my self-esteem. I am _not_ that short. In fact, I'm only a mere few inches shorter than you. And as for my psychic abilities, it only gives me the possession of extrasensory perception."

"I'm so happy that the accident didn't affect your brain, Rach. You still know big words."

"As a matter of fact, it did, Brittany. Dr. Kevin O'brien patiently explained to me last night the extent of the damage to my brain. He states that I am currently suffering from retrograde amnesia, therefore from his studies, he has concluded that I am unable to remember anything from the last five years. However, I have explained to him that I am functioning perfectly fine. Of course, my motor skills have not reached its full potential, but daily physical therapy will cure that within a few weeks. My voice however, is a rather dejected story. I'm unable to reach the strong and piercing notes I once could due to my vocal cords not getting the required amount of exercise it used to while I was in my coma, but I believe with sufficient nutrients—"

"You can't remember anything from the last five years?" Brittany interrupted.

Surprisingly to Quinn, she had expected Santana to interrupt the moment she heard Rachel say retrograde amnesia, but it seemed the Latina was happy to let Rachel speak. Something she thought would never change.

"Yes, I can't remember—"

"Even me and Santana?"

"Santana and I," Rachel corrected and shook her head. "I remember who you are."

"Then why did you say you can't remember anything?"

"There are parts of my life I can't remember."

Santana stepped in. "What she means, B, is that she doesn't remember how we became friends, how she has gained recognition and stardom for her Broadway shows, and—" Santana chanced a glance at Quinn. "And being married."

"Oh, Rachel." Brittany sniffled and embraced Rachel in another hug while Santana dragged Quinn away from the scene.

"When were you going to tell us?" Santana demanded once they were outside.

"If you think that for a minute I had time to even pick up my phone and ring you about this, then you're wrong!" Quinn felt brittle, and at times she found it hard to breathe. Sometimes she'd be overcome with the dread that there wasn't enough oxygen in the air to sustain her lungs. Quinn sat down on the chair, her shoulders hunched forward, her fists clenched. "I don't know what to do. She remembers nothing, S! _Nothing_! She still thinks Finn is around!"

Santana took Quinn's hands in hers, one at a time. "It'll be okay, Q. It will. Rachel will get her memories back, right?"

Quinn shook her head as tears fell from her eyes. "I'm not sure, the doctors aren't even sure. And even if she did, what are the chances that she will remember _me_?"

"Because she loves you! Hell, a love like this just doesn't happen to anyone. Trust me, I know."

They both gazed at their significant others from their position. Rachel was smiling at whatever story Brittany was telling her. It was her usually bright smile showing her pearly white teeth.

Santana's voice bought her back to reality. "You two fell in love with each other before you even knew who the other was. How many people can say that?"

•••

**August 20th, 2011**

Quinn had always considered her life normal—besides the baby-gate incident, but that just confirmed that she made mistakes like any other human being (not that Beth was a mistake in any way, the timing was just astray—she was as normal as any other person). She had a path laid out for her and although she didn't know where that path would lead to in the future, it was there and she was walking along like she has for the past seventeen and a half years. Her life wasn't perfect, it was nowhere near perfect.

Today she started to think what would happen if on this fateful day—if she hadn't done the things she did. Would _she_ have come along some other way? Would _they_ have started talking somewhere down the track?

There was a mild curiosity inside of her the moment a message popped up in her tumblr inbox. Brilliant, someone wanted to talk to her. She had never gotten any messages before. She recognized the name instantly and knew it was a girl when she looked at her profile: Rachel, Sixteen, US of A. There was an arty photo of someone famous and she'd written her interests were music, films, along with a lengthy list of what she guessed were bands the girl liked; in other words, they had nothing in common.

_**I'd just like to say how much I loved your recent picspam of Lea Michele**__, _the message said. Yes, Quinn had been bored and posted a picspam of Lea Michele, showing off her amazing photoshop skills.

Interest in this girl got the better of her. _**thankyou so much! she is so talented i couldn't help myself**_**.**

Quinn remembered the moment this girl started following her on tumblr. Somehow she had stumbled across this particular tumblr and thought the name was divine, _everlyluminiscent_, and Quinn followed her due to the amount of Lea Michele and Dianna Agron that appeared on the girl's blog. The girl followed her back right away, and Quinn wasn't even exaggerating that fact.

_**I whole-heartedly agree**__, _was the reply. _**I only wish that I was able to kidnap her and lock her in my basement**_**.**

A smile plastered wildly across Quinn's lips and she hastily replied. _**my thoughts exactly. since you have a basement, maybe we could come up with something together?**_

_**Dianna Agron should come along also. If we lock them up together and threaten them by saying that we will allow them to leave once they admit their true feelings for one another maybe they'll finally come out of the closet? Haha!**_

This girl was good. Quinn wondered if this conversation was going places she didn't know if she wanted it to._** lol! they just might! but if they don't, i want Lea to myself :P**_

_**I won't argue with that. I lean more towards Dianna! Lol.**_

This girl was turning out to be a little more interesting than she had thought. _**so… what is in this basement of yours and how did you get one?**_

An hour or two passed without a reply and Quinn decided that the girl must have logged off. She clicked on the girl's tumblr; it was colorful with fancy pictures of quotes, celebrity photos and a few text posts of her own—she'd evidently spent a lot of time customizing it. There was even a link containing pictures which she had edited with photoshop and posted it herself, mostly of people Quinn half-recognized from films.

That night it struck Quinn that it was the first time she had ever spoken about another woman in that way to anyone. With Rachel, she had a different glow towards her. The way Quinn could immediately identify with her sense of humor and playfulness. She was amazed at how much she got along with this girl and her cheeks hurt from the smiles.

Despite herself, she was interested... and realized how perfectly well-timed Rachel had entered her life.

•••

**December 20th, 2015**

Lack of foresight could get you into trouble. It's a lack of foresight to not know that your wife still knows how to use a cell phone. She woke up from a coma and forgot five years of her life, she didn't wake up from a coma and was suddenly in the future where they magically upgraded cell phones and was unusable to the post-dead. Equally, it's a lack of foresight to plan for your new futures together and think that deep down nothing could get in your way.

At such times you find yourself adrift in anxiety, unprepared once more for the onslaught of stomach cramps and the hideous sweat.

"Finn, what are you doing here?" With trembling hands, Quinn brought her palms together in order to keep herself from lashing out at seeing the tall, lanky, dopey-eyed male known as Finn Hudson who had casually strolled through the hospital wing.

Quinn didn't miss the way he paled but remained as calm as he could. "I came to see Rachel. She called me last night saying that she wanted to see me."

"What else did she tell you?"

This time, Finn didn't miss the troubled expression on Quinn's face. "That she doesn't remember anything."

"And what did you tell her?" She dared him to answer the question with pride.

Of course, with Finn Hudson, he was too moronic to read between the lines. "I told her that we're friends and that I'll always be here for her."

Quinn lunged forward but Santana held her back. "This has nothing to do with you, Hudson. You made it pretty clear you didn't want to be in her life when—"

"Your life, Quinn. Not hers. Now, she doesn't remember you, maybe it's a sign."

"It's been four years," Santana said. "Get over the fact that she dumped your ass back to your crummy tool shed of a garage."

Lack of foresight leads to head-spins and headaches and heartache. Of course Rachel was going to call Finn. _This_ wasn't her Rachel at twenty-one. _This_ was her Rachel at sixteen—in love with Finn Blockheaded Hudson.

"Finn, you came!" Rachel's voice shot through the sliding door. Finn tore himself away from Quinn and Santana and walked—stomped—his way over to Rachel.

Quinn watched as Finn held Rachel in his arms for what seemed like a minute too long. Rachel didn't recline and nestled her head in-between his neck and shoulder, and Quinn had to dig her nails into the door-frame to stop herself from pulling Finn away from her wife when she saw Rachel's large, magical eyes shine up at him. A wide _I'm-so-glad-you're-here_ smile on her face. The last time Rachel had looked at her that way was before the accident.

What was acute was her awareness of the immediate absence of Rachel's warm body from her life. When Rachel hugged her it wasn't with the same love. She felt frightened whenever Quinn came near her, at the same time shocked that their friendship had progressed this far without her knowing how. A terrifying sense of instability consumed her. She was scared to admit that maybe there would be no more future between Rachel and herself, only a series of moments of connections in the past.

It was when Brittany placed her arm around Quinn's shoulder that she looked away from the two ex-lovers. "She's going to be okay, Q. You'll get through this."

She prayed and wished silently to the big man upsets that that were true.

"Quinn, can you give us a moment, please?" Rachel asked her softly.

"No, I want to be here," Quinn's eyes glared fiercely.

"I—I just want to talk to Finn alone," Rachel said.

"Where was he when the accident happened? Where was he when you woke up? He doesn't belong here, Rachel!"

"Quinn, please just leave. This doesn't concern you."

"You're my wife of course it does!"

Rachel exploded, all control vanished. "I don't remember ever being married to you! Stop saying that. We're not together, we'll never be together."

Quinn began to tremble but stepped forward, her expression very threatening. Instantly, Finn stood up. "She wants you to leave, Quinn,"

"Stay. Out. Of. This."

"Q," Brittany placed her hand on her arm. "Let's leave. We'll get coffee and something to eat."

Quinn's face went dark with fury. She felt her blood coursing through her veins, the hairs on her neck were upright. She raised her arm, it spliced in the air and then her open palm descended to strike Finn's cheek. The slap seemed to echo. It cracked the twilight. Finn looked down at her in shock. There was a long silence. It was as if everyone in the room could not comprehend what had occurred, how Quinn's action and the pain Finn felt was beginning to feel coincided. The silence broke, Quinn's face crumpled: when the tears began to fall, they fell silently.

"Quinn, how could you?" Rachel pushed herself up off the bed, knocking Finn to the side. She fell forwards and Quinn caught her in her arms before her left foot could touch the ground. "Don't touch me, Quinn. How could you? I only wanted to have a private conversation with Finn. Is that not allowed now because we're married?"

Quinn could not forget the exhilaration when the sound of the slap slammed through her body. It had been electric, fiery, exciting. She was glad Finn had finally been punished for what he put Rachel through that year they broke up, she was glad he was shocked and terrified. She had expected praise from Rachel, but expectation always leads to disappointment.

Enrage filled her insides and she wiped her eyes. "I did what I had to do!"

"You in no way had to hit him! Just leave us alone. Can you do that?"

"Fine! I'm out of here. You're going to regret this, Rachel!" She pushed passed Santana and Brittany on her way out, nearly knocking them over.

The last sound she heard was the slamming of the slide door and Santana and Brittany's voice before she rounded the corner and locked herself in an empty room. Her chest hurt, a cord wrapped tightly around her lungs. She tried to breathe but couldn't. She knew she must not panic, this wasn't a heart attack, it couldn't be, it mustn't be, she just had to breathe.

With a gasp that sent her sprawling to the floor she convulsed and drew sweet life into her throat and lungs. She rocked back and forth, wiping the sweat around her neck with the sleeves of her jacket, remembering again how to breathe. She massaged her chest and repeated—I have to be there for her. Rachel needs me now more than ever. I can't give up. I won't give up—over and over again as if it were a chant.

•••

**August 21st, 2011**

Quinn had spent today the same way she had spent the previous day: in front of her laptop. Her grandmother had tried to get her to come down for breakfast, but she didn't feel comfortable, especially with the next door neighbors hanging around. But after a while, the Sunday evening quietness started to get to her. She wanted someone to talk to. She wanted to talk to _Rachel_. The girl hadn't yet replied to her previous message and she was impatiently waiting.

It was almost lunchtime before she felt hungry enough to detach herself from the laptop and found her grandmother sitting in the kitchen with the Morrisons (their neighbors). Quinn groaned at the thought that they were still there, but she was too hungry to ignore their presence. Her only concern was that she had wished she had put on descent clothes other than her night sleep shirt—and she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Good morning?" Her grandmother said as she went to the fridge. Quinn could tell from the expression on her face that she was trying not to sound annoyed.

"Great," she muttered, taking a carton of juice.

"What is so interesting on that laptop of yours that has gotten you staying awake all night and locked up in that room all morning?" Quinn grunted and her grandmother continued. "Would you like me to make you something to eat?"

"No, thanks. I'll just have some..." She scanned around the kitchen for something worth eating that didn't require making. "A bread roll."

"For lunch?"

"It's fine, grandma. I'll have a big dinner." She quickly ran to her room before her grandmother could stop her.

When she closed the door, she glanced at her laptop but made no attempts to move. There were two possibilities that could arise once she opened the lid. One, was that a message would appear in her inbox with Rachel's reply and she would smile like a little child and two, there would be no message and she would appear despondent.

On a whim, she turned to her laptop and the **1 New Message** notification sign almost had her tripping over her chair trying to sit down. _**That's a secret for me to know and for you to find out ;-) Besides, I don't know you well enough to tell you my deepest, darkest secret. Let's start from the beginning. My name is Rachel, how are you today mysterious stranger, who didn't introduce herself when we first met.**_

She hadn't mentioned her last name. Quinn figured it was still early stages at the moment. _**oh, i'm sorry, my name is Quinn and today has been rather boring for me. what about yourself? nice to meet you, Rachel. can i call you Rach? :-)**_

After about fifteen minutes, a new message popped up. _**You can call me Rach if you like! I'm currently in New York on my way to see a Broadway show with my mom and then possibly some dinner and back home tomorrow. Do you enjoy Broadway, Quinn?**_

_**not entirely, no. it has never been one of my favorite types of music, but i wouldn't mind seeing one with you ;-)**_ It was too late. She pressed sent.

Waiting for a reply felt as if someone held a gun to her head and she was waiting for them to pull the trigger. _**That is so sweet of you to say, Quinn. I didn't know I had that kind of effect on someone haha.**_

The trigger wasn't pulled and her heart began to pound with relief. _**what show are you seeing btw?**_

_**Wicked! It is one of my favorites! Have you heard of it?**_

Quinn wasn't sure whether she should tease Rachel to see her response, but thought better of it. _**of course i have. this girl in my glee club is obsessed with broadway and she doesn't stop talking about it. i probably could listen to you any time of day though ;-)**_

She was flirting. Was she flirting? Quinn swiveled in her chair, heart beating quickly. Rachel had taken longer than she had expected to reply. Quinn wondered if she had stepped out of line.

_**You are extremely sweet. What would I have to do to take you out on a date? Haha.**_

_**ask me?**_

_**When I come back from New York in a few days I definitely will :-)**_

•••

**December 27th, 2015**

Rachel soon got into a routine with her therapy, and there was steady progress in her condition, walking, speech and reasoning. Everything was a process, though. For example, when she started walking on her own, she jerked her right foot forward, then dragged the left one on the floor behind her. Gradually the movement got smoother and more natural. Before long she could dress by herself, eat, and take care of all the basic necessities of life.

Scott Madsen, Rachel's physical therapist, was an energetic trainer who had a special gift for encouraging his patients to do just a little more every day than they thought they could possibly do. His plan for Rachel's therapy included time on the treadmill, working with hand weights, and a range of exercises designed to help her get as much flexibility and strength back as possible.

From time to time Rachel would act strangely childlike. This childishness hadn't gone away with therapy; in fact, it seemed to have become a permanent part of her personality. During her therapy sessions she experienced wild mood swings and threw tantrums that would make a pre-schooler proud. When she was mad at Quinn, she would lash out at her in sudden bursts of temper. Her lack of subtlety and propriety rivaled that of a little girl, and she had no qualms about telling anybody exactly what she thought about them or their suggestions. Seeing this side of Rachel on a daily basis convinced Quinn that the wife she knew now was no longer there. She was a far cry from the polite, amiable, easy-going Rachel of the present.

Rachel was sixteen again.

Though there were some worrying aspects of this old Rachel personality, Quinn's fears were often offset by the good things about her recovery. As her therapy continued, she kept getting stronger physically. That was encouraging, but what excited her even more was the mental progress Rachel was making. She started having what her doctor called 'flash memories' or 'snapshot memories'. These were mental pictures she would get of a specific moment during the past five years, but the problem was that there was nothing to link those memories with anything from her life before or after them. Even so, Quinn put a lot of hope into these flash memories. She knew they could be the key to Rachel remembering their life together. One of the snapshot memories Rachel had was of her sitting outside at a table surrounded by lush tropical plants. That snapshot was from their honeymoon, though unfortunately Quinn wasn't in the frame of their Hawaiian 'camera'. But Quinn held on to that memory because it was one more link Rachel had with their missing past.

Ever since Quinn had slapped Finn on that miraculous day, Rachel had been refusing to talk to her, but she didn't mind having Quinn around during her therapy sessions. Her interactions with Rachel were strictly surface conversations; they were without any depth or dimension.

"I'm sorry about Finn," Quinn said after a few moments of awkward silence. She hadn't bothered to apologize for the past few days, her pride clouded her from doing just that. "You have to understand, Rach, it's hard for me seeing you with him. Considering your history together and the fact that you don't even remember me."

"I remember you, Quinn."

"Not in the way I want you to." Quinn had felt calm when she had made the decision to continue to support Rachel no matter what the odds were, but that had not lasted long. Her mind kept drifting to what may lay ahead.

Rachel made no attempts to move. "I'm sorry about that, Quinn, but you can't possibly blame me for it,"

I blame myself, she thought. "No, I could never blame you."

Rachel offered her a small, tight smile. Quinn saw in her eyes that she was searching for the right words and this version of Rachel made her breathless and anxious. Interacting with Rachel like this was always difficult, confusing, as though seeing her peeled away the years of Quinn's maturity back to the shy, tongue-tied girl she was back in high school. But she was aware of a deep and satisfying pleasure, a warmth flooded her whole body: when she was with Rachel it was as if she had stepped out of the shade and into the warm invigorating sunshine. The world felt colder to her now when Rachel wasn't around.

"Rach, I need you back," there was nothing menacing in her voice. Her arms were crossed and her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders. "I need you so much." It was the first time since the accident she had let Rachel see her vulnerability.

Rachel moved over to the table beside Quinn and started picking pieces of lint off the pale blue sheet. She was refusing to look at her. "I don't know what to say when you say things like that to me."

"I just—I needed you to hear it."

"I didn't want to say this to you so soon, considering... our situation. But I realized that there is no right time. I was—I'm thinking that..." Rachel had no idea how to act around Quinn. It crushed her heart to see Rachel so acutely aware while around her. "I'm thinking when I get out of here I should... stay with my fathers."

Quinn wanted to be kind but she didn't know how. "You can't do that. The doctor said that you should go back to your daily routine so you have a better chance of getting your memories back."

"I don't know you, Quinn. Please understand that if you can't understand anything else. Let me do this on my own,"

"I want to be there for you." She softened her tone.

"You have been. For the past few weeks you have been there for me all the way and I'm extremely grateful for everything." Rachel still couldn't look at her. "But it's time I do this on my own. I need to surround myself with belongings that I'm familiar with. Going back to New York and living in that apartment with you will be a whole new experience for me. I wouldn't know what to do. It's not my place."

"_It is_ your place. It's _our_ place."

Rachel began struggling for the right words. "I can't do it. I can't be the Rachel you want me to be. I can't stay with you not knowing anything about our life."

"That's why you have to stay with me so you can find out." Quinn's response was almost violent. She started shaking. "I have been looking forward to you coming home for weeks. I'm not letting you live with your fathers when we still have so many things to work out." She knew she wasn't being reasonable; she couldn't stop Rachel from doing what she wanted. Quinn figured that once Rachel was able to make her own decisions, she might never come back to her.

Rachel finally lifted her eyes to meet Quinn's. It was poisonous, "I knew you'd never understand. You can't make my decisions for me, Quinn! I'm my own person now." She took a shuddered breath. "I don't know how our relationship was like previously, but I will not allow you to stop me from doing what I want to do."

Quinn wasn't surprised they had begun arguing so quickly into the conversation, it seemed that was all they did. She sat down on the bed next to Rachel. She could smell the smaller girl's perfume; over-ripe, sugary, it trickled her nose. It didn't smell like _her_ Rachel anymore. Quinn wished she could reach out and touch her, stroke her hair, kiss her like she had used to. But she couldn't bring herself to show any affection. Any touch between them now would be loathsome. She dreaded the argument ahead.

"You can't go." She stated.

"I can and I _will_! You need to let me go, Quinn!"

Quinn hesitated, wanting to put off the inevitable conversation, wanting to remain in the blissful, uncomplicated silence. "So what are you thinking? That once you get better you're going to leave me and we'll never see each other again? Move on with your _new_ life? With _Finn Fucking Hudson_?"

Rachel's eyes flashed angrily at her. "Firstly, I'm still furious at you for slapping him. I haven't accepted your apology. Secondly, what I do now is not of your concern. I want to find out who I am! Five years of my life has disappeared and I have no recollection of anything. Why can't you understand that?"

Rachel was watching her warily, Quinn knew she was preparing her arguments. She didn't want to fight—she couldn't summon either annoyance or self-righteousness. But Rachel was already there, Quinn could tell she was spoiling for a fight. Rachel's eyes were alive and shining, she was clenching her right fist.

"I'm scared you'll leave me. That's why I can't let you go, because you'll leave me." She didn't know when she had lost faith in their love for one another. She didn't even know why it scared her so much.

Rachel was taken by surprise; Quinn even thought a shadow of disappointment might have crossed her face. She unclenched her fist. "If we're meant to be together, things will work out." Her response was muted, unconvincing.

"That's what I'm afraid of. What if it doesn't?" She muttered softly to herself. She was unsure if Rachel had heard her because she was off the bed and making her way to her bag for some new clothes to change into.

Rachel's next sentence caught her off guard. "If two people are meant for each other, it doesn't mean they have to be together _right now_."

The chocolate eyes staring back at her were pleading, tormented, and almost against her will. Not wanting to hurt Rachel anymore than she already has, she nodded in agreement.

Quinn rolled her eyes when Rachel went into the bathroom to change. They had seen each other naked countless times, but Quinn reminded herself that _this_ Rachel was bashful and apprehensive in terms of her appearance. However, she took the opportunity to place the Christmas present she had bought for Rachel on her hospital bed. Quinn rummaged through the pile of magazines for a diversion when Rachel opened the door, and she waited.

She heard Rachel squeal of delight but made no attempts to turn around. Before the accident, Rachel had been gushing and hinting about a music box she wanted for Christmas—she wasn't very subtle about it either. The copper plated box studded with shards of silver and gold-raised lettering inscription which said: _In Greek mythology, it's said that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them apart and condemned them to spend their whole lives searching for their missing halves._

It was Rachel's favorite quote.

"Quinn, this is beautiful." She was examining the music box, opening and shutting the lid, the tiny oriental music box kept starting and stopping. "I don't recognize the song though."

She was forcing herself to be cool, unaffected by Rachel's words. But she wished Rachel hadn't said anything, not yet, not when they had finally come to an agreement about something. It had made everything more of a reality—the accident, the memory loss, the lack of physical contact, the limited emotional connection—there was no way she could ever awake from this dream.

"It's our song." That was all she could manage to say before she quickly left the room to find solace in an empty room and let her tears fall.

•••

**August 30th, 2011**

Quinn lay in the setting sun, her eyes shut, listening to the thud-thud of the ball being kicked around by Nicholas—her neighbor's son. She didn't mind baby-sitting the little rascal, he enjoyed playing by himself most of the time. Today was the first time since she arrived at her grandmother's that she had been outside in the garden, feeling the cool breeze of the summer sun. She wondered if this was what it would be like once she was married and had children. Of course, the determination of her future partner was unknown. She thought of Rachel, with curvy brown hair, shining eyes, pearly white teeth. She couldn't imagine a husband, not when all she thought about was Rachel.

She shook the thought out of her head instantly. The summer had turned into something she wasn't sure she was ready to admit to herself. Rachel had come out of nowhere and elicited feelings inside of her she never thought she was capable of. Not only that, but she hadn't met the girl, she knew next to nothing about Rachel. Where she lived, what her favorite food was, what school she went to, what she did on her weekends, how they were going to make this relationship work, would she be able to handle a long distance relationship, how often would they see each other, where would Rachel stay if she came to Lima and where would Quinn stay if she visited Rachel.

Okay, those last few questions were unnecessary. They weren't in a relationship. She didn't even _know_ Rachel. The girl might not even be gay.

They have been chatting idly back and forth for the past few days sending tumblr messages to one another. It was only yesterday that the messages were constant. Quinn looked forward every morning to Rachel's replies and she found herself spending the whole day either on her laptop or attached to her phone. Whenever she got a notification that she had a new message, a wide smile would spread across her lips.

_**i'm currently baby sitting my neighbor's son, Nicholas. he's such a cute little rascal. and soaking in the sun as best I could. you? **_She typed quickly on her phone and hit sent. She thanked whoever it was for inventing 3G on cell phones. It made things much simpler than having to carry her laptop everywhere.

_**I, too, am also basking in the evening sun. How old is Nicholas? You are taking great care of him, aren't you? Lol.**_

An image of Rachel Berry suddenly appeared in her head. She thought of her sitting in front of her bedazzled laptop and typing out long emails using her dialect wisely. This girl certainly did type the same way Rachel spoke, but it couldn't be. As far as Quinn knew, Rachel was away with her fathers on a secluded trip to connect with the wild. Something had happened between her and Finn and she wanted to get away from Lima on a "no technology trip"—according to Kurt.

Before she replied to Rachel's message, she typed a quick text to Santana: **Just wondering, do you know where Rachel's been this summer? Kurt said she was on a trip to the wild. Have you heard from her? Do you know if she has a tumblr?**

Then, she messaged Rachel. _**i am a very good baby sitter, thank you very much. Nicholas loves me! he's 5. he comes to me when he wants to eat and drink and then goes and plays by himself haha. which state you live in, Rach?**_

When her phone chimed a few minutes later, she was disappointed to see Santana's name: **How would I know where the midget is? Does it look like I associate with her? Why do u care anyway? If she does have a tumblr and she's not following me then she's one dead dwarf when I get a hold of her!**

**I was just wondering. Geez, chill a little will you!** She wanted to elaborate more in her text but thought it be wiser to ask Kurt. **Hey Kurt, do you know if Rachel has a tumblr?**

Next, she opened the tumblr message and read Rachel's reply. _**You mean, which state do I live in? Lol. Sorry, I have a bad habit of correcting grammar. I'm currently in Colorado. What about you, Quinn? Where are you from? Do you go to school? Which school?**_

_**is that so? hmm.. i'm surprised you haven't said anything about my incorrect use of the singular first person pronoun "I" and how i don't capitalize my letters after a full stop lol. i'm from lima, ohio. i'm currently staying with my grandmother at her lake house in columbus and i attend william mckinley high. yourself?**_

A text message from Kurt was the next thing she read. **I don't think Rachel has a tumblr. I haven't heard her mention anything of the kind. She's rather computer illiterate so I doubt she'll know how to use one. Why the sudden interest Quinn?**

**I was just wondering. **Quinn was rather annoyed that any question she asked about Rachel Berry was returned with the question, _Why the sudden interest?_ Is she not allowed to ask about a fellow glee club member? Kurt's text left her a little disappointed without knowing why. Rachel was officially the only member in glee club that didn't have a tumblr, but it somehow put her mind at ease that _this_ Rachel she was talking to was not one she knew.

Quinn heard Nicholas laugh and there was a sharp pain in her side as the ball slammed into her. It stung.

"You little rut."

The boy cracked up, laughing hysterically at her outrage. She ran to him, grabbed him, all writhing arms and legs and carried him over to the pond. A large goldfish was lazily gulping at the surface of the water. At their shadow, it flicked into the murky deep and vanished from sight.

"I'm going to drop you," she said.

"No." Screamed the boy, his legs thrashing furiously.

"Say sorry."

"No!"

"Say it,"

"It was an accident,"

"Say sorry."

"No!"

"In you go."

She then held him tight and kissed him, and he placed his arms around her neck. He put his lips to her ear and whispered, "I'm sorry." His skin was warm and sweaty, the sweetness of his baby powder coupled with a faint trace of earth. She rubbed her face in his hair.

"It looks like someone's had a great afternoon."

Nicholas released his grip, Quinn lowered him to the ground and he rushed over to his mother, who scooped him into her arms. Rosie sat on one of the abandoned kitchen chairs that were scattered across the backyard, their once bright red vinyl now faded to light pink.

"Time to go, little guy. Say thank you to Quinn for taking care of you,"

"Thank you, Quinn." He said sweetly and hugged his mother again.

Quinn walked them both out and then headed into the kitchen, switched on the light and then turned on the kettle. Her grandmother was out with her bingo friends and had said she would be home no later than eight. She slipped into the living room and walked over to the book shelf. The selection of books intrigued her. There were art books, biographies of writers and artists, stained dog-eared copies of books on philosophy and eastern religious.

"What are you looking at?"

She turned around in shock. "Oh, hey grandma. Don't scare me like that!"

She laughed gleefully. "Sorry, dear. Have you eaten dinner?"

"Not yet. I made myself a cup of tea. Do you want one?"

Her grandmother took off her jacket and placed her keys on the hook. "I'm beat, dear. Might head to bed,"

"It's only eight o'clock." She stated mother-of-factly.

"That's what happens with old age," she said calmly and laughed. "Goodnight, Quinn. Have a good sleep."

"Night, grandma." She watched her head upstairs and heard the door close before she took out her phone. It had been two hours since Rachel last sent her a message.

She ignored the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and placed the frozen lasagna in the oven and took a sip of her cup of tea. She could hear the light footsteps of her grandmother upstairs, the creaking of the bed once she made herself comfortable and the sound of the television. The walls in this house were paper-thin.

By ten-thirty after having finished her dinner and watching some television, she got ready for bed. Quinn stood on the railing in her room and watched the lights of the houses glitter around her. The light from the moon and from the houses nearby cast a faint tangerine aura around the lake.

Her phone chimed with an email notifying her that she had a message on tumblr. Her heart quickened at the sight of Rachel's tumblr name. _**I'm terribly sorry for the late reply. I had some matters I needed to attend to. Believe me, Quinn, I had to hold all restraint when reading your messages the first few times because it was too soon to correct your grammar. And in light of your previous message, I know that you're purposefully not capitalizing your proper nouns to provoke me :-( that's very unfair of you, by the way! To answer your question, I go to school in Stanley Lake High, located in Westminster. I know my reply is rather late, but if you have a SmileyChat account by any chance could we chat on that instead? It's far easier than sending messages on tumblr. If you wish to add me, my chat name is everlyluminiscent. Can't wait to hear from you, Quinn :-) Goodnight.**_

Rather than heading to bed for an early night, it was more exciting to turn on her laptop and add Rachel's name to her chat list of friends. She had just sent a request to _everlyluminiscent_ when a notification popped up on her screen alerting her that Rachel had accepted her request. _everlyluminiscent _was online.

A flash of excitement ran through her, like a jolt of electric current surging from her feet to the tips of her hair. Her eyes stayed glued to the name on her screen. They would be talking. An actual conversation.

_**hey**_**,** she typed, opening the conversation. _**Rach...?**_

_**Yeah. Hi, Quinn :-) Nice to finally speak to you. How are you?**_

_**great, thanks. yourself?**_

_**I'm lovely!**_

Quinn didn't know what to say. She was entirely surprised that she had been looking forward to this moment and as it happens she was speechless. A new message popped up.

_**I sense that you're a little shy? Lol**_

_**yeah... lol. i've never done this before**_

_**Talking to people online? =/**_

_**lol no. meeting someone online and having a conversation with them**_

_**Well, if it makes you feel any better, I come in peace and am not here to seduce you in any way like men usually do over the internet.**_

_**are you really a girl? Lol**_

_**If you could see me, I would be rolling my eyes at you right now :-P I am a girl. Perfectly healthy girl to be correct!**_

Quinn was searching her brain for something clever to say but Rachel had beaten her to it. _**How is spending time with your grandmother?**_

_***shrug* not bad. i've baked cookies and cakes, drank lots of tea (which i never do) and lay around the house**_

_**Sounds like you've had a blast. Lol**_

_**it's peaceful here which is why I like it**_

_**You capitalised your "I". Let me just point out that this is a milestone in our relationship haha.**_

Relationship.

Rachel said relationship.

What kind of a relationship was this? Did she want more? Was she hinting that she wanted more?

_**Quinn? I'm sorry.**_

She shook her head and rattled her brain with words to lighten the mood. _**it's ok, i was just shocked i guess. The "I" was a fluke, btw!**_

_**Shocked about what?**_

_**you said relationship. i didn't know what you meant. **_She quickly typed another message before Rachel could respond. _**what did you mean?**_

_**I'm not sure, to be honest. This may come as a shock to you but it's not often that I meet someone online – let alone on tumblr – and want to continue talking to them. You're actually my first internet friend.**_

_**you're mine too! i feel like i can tell you things. its weird**_

_**My ears are always open if you ever need a friendly chat!**_

_**tell me about yourself**_

_**My name is Rachel and I attend Stanley Lake High :-)**_

_**i meant something more about yourself, smart ass**_

_**Oh, well, why did you just say so ;-)**_

Quinn looked intently at the sentence: _everlyluminiscent is typing a message... _and judging by the long time she waited, she knew Rachel had a lengthy response.

_**My favourite color is green, I love musical theater and I plan to become an actress/singer/Broadway sensation/EGOT winner. Scratch that, I INTEND to be an actress/singer/Broadway sensation/EGOT winner :-). In my spare time I enjoy reading, watching movies, listening to music. I have many favorite movies but if I had to choose it would most likely be Funny Girl, I enjoy many romantic comedies. Barbra Streisand is my favorite singer/actress. I also enjoy the music of Madonna, Lady Gaga, Michael Jackson, and Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros.  
>Enough about me. What about yourself, Quinn?<strong>_

That was a lot of information to take in. Rachel sure did like talking about herself. There was also another _Rachel_ Quinn knew who enjoyed doing just that.

_**do you have a boyfriend?**_

There was a pause on Rachel's end. Quinn counted the whole of ten minutes before another message popped up.

_**No, I do not. Unfortunately, my boyfriend and I went our separate ways a few weeks ago.**_

_**what happened?**_

Whether or not Rachel was uncomfortable talking about her private life to a stranger, she didn't show it.

_**We weren't compatible for one another. He said some rather mean things to me and I disliked his immaturity. It's for the best. I have come to the realization that I deserve someone who can keep up with me mentally, emotionally and verbally. I possessed a lot of self-control on my vocabulary when speaking to him.**_

_**what things did he say?**_

_**He never appreciated the fact that I like to spend time with my parents and I never took pleasure in watching him constantly play video games. He took me to the same restaurant every week knowing that I am vegan, he didn't like the movies I chose for us to watch, he never made an effort to meet my parents, whenever he would pick me up for our date he'd honk his horn, he didn't like to hold my hand in public, he made me pay on our first date because he forgot his wallet at home but had no problem driving without his license, he forgets my birthday and our anniversary, he forgets a lot of things that I say.**_

Quinn frowned at Rachel's rant, not because she didn't enjoy reading it.

_**it seems like he didn't appreciate you for who you are. you deserve much better than that, Rach! i'm glad you dumped his ass!**_

_**Lol. Well, yes. He wasn't too happy about that. He asked me to give him another chance a week after we broke up but I refused and decided to head out of the state to get some fresh air.**_

Quinn read the response a couple of times before replying. She decided to take a chance and follow her heart.

_**I'd treat you right ;-) haha.**_

The capitalisation of 'I'd' was done on purpose to please Rachel. She waited patiently for the other girl's reply. _**I'd never thought of another woman the way I've thought about you. It's so strange. I mean, I've always told myself that if I ever fell for a woman I'd embrace it. I just never thought it would happen this way.**_

A little warily, Quinn typed, _**You're falling for me?**_

_**Yes.**_

If Quinn wasn't sure before, she was definitely sure now: she was falling for Rachel. What surprised her was how quickly she began to fall. The tension hung in the air and her stomach was in knots. She could barely think straight (oh, the irony), so the only thing left to do was once again, listen to her heart.

_**i think i might be in love with you**_

She felt as if her whole body was weightless and that any moment now, she'd float into the clouds. She declared her love to someone she had met days ago. She didn't even _care _that she had never seen Rachel before; she just knew that these feelings don't just _happen_ everyday.

_**Where do we go from here, Quinn?**_

_**i have absolutely no idea...**_

_**Tell me about yourself.**_

_**i'm not very interesting, tbh**_

_**Tbh?**_

Quinn laughed at Rachel's unfamiliarity of chat abbreviations. _**to be honest**_

_**Oh.  
>You underestimate yourself too much, Quinn. Let me be the judge of your "uninteresting life".<strong>_

She exhaled the breath she held and began typing.

_**where do i start? i had a daughter when i was sixteen. my parents kicked me out of home but after the baby was born my mom left my dad and i moved back home. it wasn't an easy adjutsment. we're still not on very good terms i feel like she's watching me all the time, making sure i don't rebel again. but at the same time i feel as if i have to pull my weight around the house to get her pay the bills and what not**_

She re-read her response again and corrected her mistakes.

**_*adjustment  
>*help<em>**

_**Have you spoken to your dad since then?**_

_**no,and i don't want to. he wasn't there when i needed him the most, instead he threw me out of home to fend for myself**_

_**Who did you stay with?**_

_**the baby's father...**_

_**Was he supportive of you?**_

_**he's in high school. i hurt him a lot**_

Quinn stared into the darkness, awaiting Rachel's reply. When a few minutes passed without a message, Quinn began typing again.

_**the father of Beth is my ex-boyfriend's best friend. i cheated on my ex-boyfriend with his best friend and fell pregnant. ironic, isn't it? the first time i have sex with someone, i get punished for cheating on my boyfriend. the universe was probably trying to tell me something**_

She was certain that every bone, muscle and vein in her body had awakened the moment she opened up to Rachel.

_**ever since then i've just been trying to get my life back together**_

_**Do you see Beth often?**_

Quinn shut her eyes and realized she had not said a word about giving Beth up for adoption. The image of Rachel Berry filled her mind—it was as if her brain concluded that Rachel Berry had been _this_ mysterious girl she met online all this time and that spoke to some part of her that was screaming 'danger'.

_**i never said i gave her up for adoption**_

Ten minutes passed. The message: _everlyluminiscent is typing a message... _did not appear on the screen. She felt a numbness in her body and a fullness in her throat. Terror washed through her, sweeping away her self-consciousness and any trace of amusement. Her heart contracted and she felt she had been plunged, without warning. Oh, God, _her _Rachel could not be Rachel Berry. No, she did not just show her vulnerability to her enemy.

_**You didn't have to, Quinn. You told me that you attend William McKinley High, therefore I assumed that you have decided to give Beth up for adoption as to continue with the remaining high school years. If I have assumed wrong, I apologize. I, in no way want you to think that you're an unfit parent.**_

By the time she finished reading, the numbness was wearing off and the tightness in her throat was trying to dissolve into relief. Her heart subsided to normal beats.

_**i'm sorry, i didn't mean to sound angry or anything. it's just... you remind me of someone sometimes**_

_**Who?**_

_**this girl Rachel Berry in my year. the way you type is like the way she talks. although i've never texted or chatted with her I can only assume that she types the way she talks**_

_**And that scares you?**_

_**kind of, yeah. We've never exactly gotten along and… well, i guess the thought of her seeing me vulnerable scares me in some way**_

_**There's nothing wrong with showing your emotions. She's not going to use that against you, is she?**_

_**Rachel? no way! Lol. i think she's scared of me**_

_**So I assume you're mean to her?**_

_**i don't mean to be! she's just so goddamn talented it makes me seem so little next to her, even though she's shorter than me. she's just really talented and i know that if anyone would get out of lima and make it big it'll be her**_

Without waiting for Rachel's reply, she continued.

_**from the beginning of high school i was put on a pedestal and she was at the bottom. i didn't take pleasure in tormenting her but i did it because i despised her a lot of the times. So i continued to do it to remain on said pedestal. Now i just feel ridiculous that i ever did that because she's not so bad. most of the time anyway when she isn't being her annoying little self**_

_**I'm sure when you're ready to apologize she'll forgive you.**_

_**i highly doubt that. Ive been nothing but torture her since freshman year  
>*done<strong>_

_**What I've learned in the past week is that people can surprise you.**_

•••

**January 7th, 2016**

Rachel rang in the New Year with consistent, steady progress, there was little more improvement every week. Her mood swings were still wild and unpredictable, and she complained regularly about the way her physical therapist was pressuring her to excel in therapy. However, she was stronger and more independent every day. She had started going on short walks with staff members in the neighborhood. She loved those outings, especially when she was allowed to go to the nearby shopping center. A near-fatal brain injury had not affected her love of looking for a good deal on DVDs and music albums.

Quinn looked everywhere for indications of the old Rachel. She just knew that if she could only help her embrace the rehab program with every ounce of her being, Quinn could get her back. If she couldn't reach to her as a wife, she thought maybe she could break through to her as a friend. But somehow, she couldn't seem to build more than a casual friendship with Rachel no matter what she did or how hard she tried. One minute Rachel would be friendly and smiling, then Quinn would do or say something she didn't like, and in a heartbeat she would yell, "Leave me alone! I don't even know why you're here!"

A few days into the New Year, Quinn showed Rachel how to play Wiffle ball to help with her recovery. Quinn tossed the ball underhanded, and Rachel swung and missed time and again.

"Come on, Rach," Quinn prodded, "I know you can hit it. Let's try again,"

"I'm tired." She answered with a pout. Quinn could suddenly see what her wife had been like as a six-year old.

"Let's do this a few more times," Quinn encouraged her again.

"I don't want to." There was that first grader again.

"Please?" As Quinn said it, she tossed her the ball one more time. Pressing her lips together Rachel gave a mighty swing and connected with the ball. They both watched it sail over the nearby volleyball net.

"That's it, Rach! Way to go!"

"You're mean to me."

"Not mean," Quinn answered back. "Just trying to help."

For the thousandth time Quinn looked hard for the woman she had fallen so incredibly in love with. She knew that woman was in that slowly recovering body, struggling to get out. She just had to be. Quinn didn't want to consider the alternative.

The daily therapy sessions became a challenge for Rachel. It's not that they were physically difficult, she was just bored and distracted most of the time. The only reason she was doing it was because people kept making her do it, not because she wanted to get better. She would do or say anything to get out of doing her therapy. A session would be going along well and she'd stop all of a sudden and say, "I'm tired. I want to go sit down."

"Let's just do a few more reps of this." Quinn refused to give in.

"I don't want to! Stop bossing me around! You don't play fair!" She tossed the ball at Quinn, slightly missing her head. "I'm going to the hot tub."

Quinn let out a deep sigh and watched Rachel walk away; she imagined Rachel walking away from her for good. Would Quinn stop her if that were to happen? Rachel turned around halfway towards the entrance and raised her eyebrows as if to question whether Quinn was going to stop her. Quinn shook her head apologetically, mouthing, I'll see you later and Rachel resumed her walk towards the hot tub.

Before she could comprehend anything else, an intense nausea seemed to emanate from the center of her abdomen. Her first thought was that she was going to be sick, but knew that was ridiculous because she hadn't eaten all day. She sat on the bench and intoned a yoga mantra. It's just nerves, she repeated softly, and took several deep breaths. She wrapped her jacket tightly around herself and walked around the garden. There was no wind, but it was bitterly cold, a true Ohio late winter morning, where the night denied the world any hint of the coming fall season.

She turned around when she heard footsteps and for that instant she hoped it was Rachel, but it was Puck.

"Hey, Q! I came to check up on Rachel. The nurse said she was out here with you." He tossed a ball towards her but she didn't raise her hand to catch it. He caught the worry expression in her eyes and asked, "What's wrong? Is she okay?"

"Do you have a cigarette?" She asked suddenly. "I could really use one right now."

Puck was frowning. "I don't smoke,"

"You should take it up so I can have one."

He hugged her tightly, wiping a tear from her eye. "What's wrong? You can tell the Puckerman anything." His attempt at humor didn't sit well with her.

"Rachel wants to live with her fathers when she leaves the hospital. I tried telling her she has to come and stay with me but she won't hear any of it. It's like she doesn't want to try giving us a chance at all." Sad, fatigue, frightened. That pretty much summed up her feelings in three words.

She quickly glanced up at Puck who wore another expression. Tense; as if telling her that their life was a challenge that she should be prepared to take on. "You can't force her, Quinn. And I've been with Rachel a few times these past few weeks, she's young and confused. She's like—"

"A child. I know."

"She's sixteen,"

"No! She's twenty-one and married! She has a job, responsibilities, a life with _me_!"

"She thinks she's sixteen; high school student, the ignorant, fierce, passionate and extremely intelligent glee club member who fought everyone for solos each week. Her only responsibilities now include getting into an amazing college and becoming a star," he added. "Also, finishing high school."

Quinn saw no trace of the arrogant boy that Noah Puckerman once was. He looked afraid. "I want to help her but it's as if she won't let me. It's like she doesn't understand the fact that we _really are married_ and willing to give this a chance."

Puck clucked sadly on hearing the sadness in Quinn's voice. "Maybe you should talk to her fathers? Tell them to get her to stay with you?"

"I can't do that to her. She'll hate me."

Quinn looked at the two old men smoking silently in the corner, and she smiled to herself. They seemed content, confident, virile, strong. Just as her relationship with Rachel's once was. And then she heard Puck say,

"She doesn't have to know."

•••

**September 5th, 2011**

Walking to Puck's house was a task in her high heels, she had to walk slowly, deliberately so as to not stumble. The night air was sharp and there were goosebumps all over her arms. Brittany had wanted Santana to park her car a good few miles away in order for them to walk off the alcohol in their system at the end of the night. Next to her, Santana's tight-fitting boob tube and Brittany's tight-skin jeans and scarlet halter seemed elegant compared to her black skirt with buttons down one side and a carefully embroidered, sapphire top.

She had been back home for a day and was already being dragged out by Santana who refused to hear her complains about being tired and her mother didn't help in that department either. She had told Santana that for the last week all Quinn did while at her grandmother's was spend time on her computer, so she couldn't possibly be tired. Santana smirked, knowing what Quinn had been doing on the laptop.

Most of all, she wanted to stay home and talk to Rachel. Both girls have been chatting non-stop for the past few days. Whenever it weren't possible for them to chat—either Rachel was out with her parents or Quinn was doing something (the truth was, Quinn never really did anything)—they would send each other emails. Their relationship had progressed from tumblr messages, to online chatting and finally, emailing. They hadn't yet touched on the topic of how they would meet each other nor how this relationship was going to work.

"Hurry up, Q, I want to get my drinks on!" Santana bellowed. "Why are you dawdling?"

Quinn let out a low, slow breath. "Okay, okay!"

"Come on, Quinn," Brittany grabbed her hand to pull her along. "Ignore Santana, she hasn't been drunk in a month."

Puck's house was a small, double-storey on the crest of a hill. They walked up the driveway, which was steep and long, and the shoes pinched at Quinn's heels. Fairy lights decorated the veranda and loud music could be heard booming from the back of the house. Puck really went all out on what he calls, _The best last week of summer holidays party _party. The girls stopped at the front door and looked at the town below them. Lima was lit up and the night sky was a deep, satiny purple.

Puck screamed when he opened the door. Brittany—behind Quinn—let out a series of gasps. Santana pushed Quinn down the long corridor into the living room where their peers were scattered around. Through the glass doors Quinn could see Mike turning sausages and steaks on the barbecue. There were already fifteen or so kids outside, and with a quick glance around the house, she noticed all the Glee kids were present—including Rachel Berry.

She racked her brain for coherent thoughts at the sight of Rachel Berry in a short pleated skirt and a simple white top that hugged her chest and showed a little cleavage. She cursed herself for roaming her eyes to _that_ area. When she lifted her eyes, Rachel was staring right back at her. There was a spark in her eyes that shot a jolt of heat through Quinn.

Puck walked up to the girls with three beers in his hand and attempted to kiss them on the cheek. Quinn and Santana declined but Brittany was happy to oblige and Quinn saw fire in Santana's eyes.

"I don't want no beer," Santana said. "Where's your vodka and Jack Daniels?"

Puck looked at Santana appreciatively. "Follow me, Lopez." He put his arm around her shoulder and led her to the backyard. Quinn heard him say, "Let's get your drink on." Before they were out of ear shot.

"Quinn, let's go say hi to Rachel. She looks lonely." Brittany led the way and Quinn noticed Rachel halt instantly when they reached her. Quinn thought Rachel was scared, but with a closer examination, she seemed surprised. She thought she heard Rachel say "Hello" but couldn't be sure due to the music pumping through the outdoor speakers.

While Brittany was talking to Rachel above all the chatter and music, Quinn looked outside to where Finn was now standing over the barbecue. Mike was laughing over something Finn was saying. Something stupid, no doubt. Finn Hudson only made dumb jokes. Then she remembered Rachel's situation with Finn. Judging by the way Finn kept glancing over Rachel's way with sad eyes, she guessed it was Rachel who couldn't be in the same room as him. That or because Finn was around meat and Rachel didn't want to see animals being sizzled.

The teenagers had formed into three groups. There was a bunch of boys around the barbecue, a cluster of girls were sitting around the patio table. Puck, the only boy among them was laughing to himself. He was no doubt drunk. Steps led down the patio to the garden area where most of the glee kids were seated. From the distance Quinn was sitting, she could see Santana's clumsy movements and pouring another shot and then gulping it down along with Kurt, Mercedes, Tina and Artie.

Quinn took out her phone and typed a quick email to Rachel. _Her_ Rachel. Not Rachel Berry. _**Hope you're having a better time than me :-( I wish I was at home talking to you**_**.** Her cell phone keyboard was enabled to allow auto-capitalization and auto-correct, which she knew would please the other girl.

Brittany excused herself a moment later and Quinn wanted to reach out and beg her to not leave, but she didn't know how to make it look subtle. Brittany walked pass the boys down to the kids in glee and joined them in drinking shots.

Quinn felt Rachel move closer, and her breath hitched in her throat when Rachel spoke ever so closely in her ear. "You don't have to stay with me."

Quinn jumped slightly, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. "I—I don't... mind."

Rachel had a smirk on her lips, probably laughing at Quinn's sudden stutter. "Really, you can go and join the other kids. I'm content right here. I'm having a perfectly good time." Quinn noticed the way Rachel said the last few words in a teasing tone. As if to answer a certain question.

"Why are you here alone?"

"I'm not alone. I'm surrounded by plenty of people."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I meant, why aren't you outside?"

"Oh," Rachel wiped her lips with a napkin. "Why didn't you just say so." _Again_ with the smirk. "It's too cold outside."

"Then why did you come?"

"I wanted to see someone."

"Finn?"

Rachel didn't answer her. Instead, her eyes drifted over to the clock in the kitchen. What could she possibly be looking at? Counting down the minutes of how long they had sat here for? How bored she was that she was talking to Quinn? She felt foolish and furious at herself. Why was she feeling so intimidated? And especially around Rachel Berry?

"I'll see you later, Berry."

Quinn turned on her heels to leave but Rachel grabbed onto her arm. At the contact, she felt the prickling sting of tingles that ran from her finger tips through the blood vessels in her hand and hit a spot in the center of her rib-cage. Quinn clutched her chest to come in contact with the unmistakable beating of her heart. The lub-dub sounds were so foreign to her ears.

And just as suddenly, Rachel released her grip. "I didn't mean to ignore you. I was just thinking,"

"About Finn." She hadn't meant to sound accusing.

Rachel shook her head _no_. "Finn and I are no longer an item and I have come to the conclusion that we would never be more than just friends."

"And you're happy with that?"

"Certainly."

Quinn raised her eyebrow, searching for any hint that Rachel was lying. When she found none, she resumed her position. Rachel's eyes, swirling with a delicate chocolate brown, were glistening, mischievous. Quinn was beginning to wonder why she ever questioned Rachel's happiness without Finn in the first place. She seemed... jubilant. It was contagious watching her smile.

"Have you enjoyed your holidays thus far, Quinn?" Rachel raised her voice to ask.

"Yes." She replied without thought. Yes, this summer had definitely been the best she ever had. She met someone she connected with online, felt things she only ever read about, it changed the way she saw the world, everything was brighter and clearer. She was able to see why she went through all the hard times in her life because it had led her to _Rachel_.

Rachel was watching her with clear fascination. Quinn saw pride in the way she smiled. When she realized she had been staring for longer than she should have, she cleared her throat and said, "I'm glad you're happy."

They fell into silence. Quinn wondered whether she should speak but she didn't care to. She checked her phone and was disappointed when she didn't receive a reply from Rachel. The party was rocked by the thundering drums and guitar of the White Stripes' Seven Nation Army. Quinn had missed Santana coming, somehow. She was beside her suddenly, and Quinn whirled quickly to face her. Rachel tensed—or at least, there was something about her that seemed wary all at once.

"We're going to get drunk," she grabbed Quinn's wrist and pulled her up. "You too, Berry, get your ass up off the seat!"

"I will be out in a minute. I need to use the ladies."

As soon as they stepped outside everyone turned to look at them. Quinn was acutely embarrassed. She felt ridiculously under-dressed. She waved at the glee kids and others she recognized as the Cheerios and went to sit next to Mercedes. Her teeth were chattering now, her spine felt like it couldn't support her frame and she felt a little queasy.

"Drink!" Santana ordered, shoving a shot glass in her face.

She grunted at the Latina but gulped it down without question. She quivered at the burning sensation it left in her mouth.

"This is great alcohol, Puckerman," Kurt managed to say through his slurred speech. "Only if Blaine were here."

"Here we go again," Mercedes rolled her eyes. She moved closer to Quinn. "Ever since he's had some alcohol in him, its Blaine _this_ and Blaine _that_."

Mercedes continued talking and Quinn tried to give her her attention, but couldn't help the smile that spread across her face whilst reading Rachel's message. _**I am having fun, and I'm sure your party isn't as boring as you're making it seem. You might just need a little alcohol in you ;-)**_

_**What are you up to tonight, anyway? I've had a feel drinks, if I start to make any grammatical errors you know that I'm drunk haha! I miss you...**_

She downed another shot and listened to the conversation around her.

"We took Tina shopping last weekend and she didn't know that Ugg boots were so two-thousand and eight." Kurt laughed hysterically, which made Mercedes laugh, which made everyone else laugh.

"It was funny when you asked the sales person when they came out," Kurt said again.

"Shut up, Kurt," Tina snapped but there was no menace in her words. "It's not _that _funny."

He started laughing again, almost tumbling out of his chair. "Yes, it is! It's the funniest thing I've heard all summer."

_**I'm at a neighborhood party. No drinks involved though :-( haha. I hope you're not the designated driver! I forbid you to drive intoxicated! And... I miss you, too.**_

"What are you smiling at, Quinn?"

Brittany's voice snapped her head up from her phone and there was a knowing look in the her eyes. Quinn didn't hide her bashfulness. "Just a message,"

"From someone special?"

"Yes."

"Who is it?"

"Rachel Berry in da house!" Puck called from his seat near the bonfire. He leapt up the instant Rachel stepped off the patio and made her way towards them. He put his arm around her shoulder and something twisted in Quinn's stomach. She glanced at Finn who was staring at them from the barbecue. He looked like his face was caught on fire. "Want a drink my little Jewish princess?"

"No, thanks," she said softly. "I wish to sit and converse in conversations with my intoxicated friends."

Quinn wasn't sure whether it was the alcohol running through her blood or maybe she had hit her head while tipsy, but she found this version of Rachel adorable. Rachel chose a seat beside Quinn and their arms brushed when she sat down. Quinn gasped, muscles tightening around her heart. Did Rachel do that deliberately?

"What are we talking about?" Rachel asked.

"Boring jibberish," Kurt dismissed. "Tell us about you and Finn."

"Yes, Berry," Santana squeezed herself in-between Quinn and Rachel. "Tell us about you and Dumb-Hudson over there."

"There's nothing to tell," she stated. "We weren't compatible for one another."

Quinn froze at the statement. She had heard that before.

"And you have accepted it?" Kurt asked.

"Of course. I have moved on with my life."

Santana pushed herself of off Rachel, struggling to keep her balance and tousled her brown hair. She giggled when Rachel pouted. "Santana! I spent a lot of time on my hair!"

"You look cute when you pout." Santana was drunk. Only drunk Santana would talk like that.

Quinn felt a pang of jealousy watching the two of them argue. She took out her phone and responded to _her_ Rachel. _**id din't drive tonight but I wished I did :( I wish you were here o drive me home! We could go home together !**_

The smoke was now steaming from the barbecue and Puck yelled at Finn—who had his eyes on Rachel—to keep an eye on the food. He then circulated around the group and poured more drinks for the glee kids. Quinn had noticed that Rachel walked away from the group and was examining the garden. Mercedes nudged Quinn to take her shot with the rest of the group and a burst of cheers erupted once everyone had chugged it down.

_**It's cute when you're drunk. Why haven't you shown me this side of you sooner? Lol. If you get the freedom of being a passenger what do I get for driving you around?**_

Quinn stared dreamily at her phone, grinning. She noticed something in the edge of her consciousness—a golden light, soft, yet vibrant. Rachel was engaging in a conversation with Santana and Brittany from the garden, and when Rachel turned to look in her direction, their eyes locked together and Quinn thought she might burn up with fever and die right there in that very spot. Rachel smiled at her and she felt her head becoming light.

_**What would you want me t repay you with? I've already decided that I'm going to be marrying you so it only seems fair that you get to choose XD**_

Quinn was falling hard and fast. It was unbelievable. The process was in some way inevitable, uncontrollable, risky, irreversible, and it left her in a state of vulnerability.

Abandoning the group of glee kids, she staggered towards Santana and Brittany. The distance she walked seemed substantially longer than it was supposed to. The swift scent of a sea of flowers hit her nose and staggered her brain until it was all she was able to focus on. She heard the secluded muffles of her peers around her over the loud music. It was a split of a second when her left foot collided with her right and she tripped forwards. Arms reached out to catch her before she realized she was falling, holding her up on her own two feet before she could sprawl across the hard stones. Quinn caught at the person's shoulder and the instant the whiff of daisies hit her nose, her mind wondered onto the one person she knew it belonged to. Rachel clutched at her awkwardly before she hastily dropped her and they stared at each other. Slowly, Quinn stiffened, her breath catching and she came face to face with brown eyes that were wide in shock, but they were warm and she wanted to stare at them for the rest of her life. Her mouth, Quinn thought, would taste cool and sweet.

"Are you okay, Quinn?"

The sound of her name on Rachel's lips provoked something within her and she pulled back. "Yeah, fine. Thanks." She noticed the affect her tone had on Rachel and said, "Are you having a good night?"

Rachel beamed brightly and a stab of joy rocked her to the soles of her feet. Quinn has had way too much to drink.

"I'm having a great night."

"Really? Why?" Quinn asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you've just been roaming around and not really talking to anyone."

Those dark eyes were gazed at her, fixed on her in a way that would have made anybody else uncomfortable, but to Quinn, it was relaxing. She swallowed. Quinn realized she was staring, but it was the continuing silence that made her uneasy. Rachel was just standing there, unmoving, watching her. Why didn't she say something?

The interruption from Santana and Brittany overhead made them both look away, and it was then Quinn realized that neither of them had taken their eyes away from each other till now.

"Britt's gots to go, Q. You need a lift?" Santana asked, casually.

"You can't drive!" Rachel argued.

"'Course I can. I'm am an expert." Even Santana's speech didn't make sense.

Brittany slumped her body onto Santana's and kissed her cheek. "She really is. You have nothing to worry about, R."

"When did we go from giving her a first-name letter nickname?" Santana sneered.

"We call each other by our first letters, and Rachel is our friend so she should have a nickname, too," Brittany said drunkenly.

Santana glanced at Rachel up and down, no doubt insulting her outfit mentally. Then, in one step, Santana wrapped Rachel in her arms. Rachel looked to Quinn for assistance, but Quinn was in a state of shock.

"Yeah, we're all friends! R is pretty cool."

"I'm... cool?" Rachel questioned Santana's sanity. "How much did you have to drink, Santana?"

"Enough to know that I kind of like you when I'm drunk."

"Santana likes _everyone_ when she's drunk," Brittany said and wrapped Rachel in a hug of her own. "I have to go home, San. Lord Tubbington is going to the vet tomorrow. You're welcomed to join us if you want, R."

"No... thanks." Rachel was still confused at the recent exchange.

"Okay. I'll send Lord Tubbington some love from you. He really likes it when people send him love,"

Rachel cleared her throat and stared at Brittany for a few seconds before speaking. "Sure."

"Let's go, Quinn. I'll drop you home."

Rachel was gazing at her, too, as if hypnotized, and she was gazing back, while energy shimmered between them like heat lightning. She saw those brown eyes go darker, and felt the wild leap of her own heart.

Quinn gave Rachel a small smile and forced her feet to follow Santana and Brittany out to the car. She _did_ want to think about what had just happened, but now that she was trying to, her thoughts eluded her like ice running from a white owl. Her palms had been wet, and there hadn't been butterflies in her stomach—there had been bats.

A new message in her phone bought her back to reality_**. I hope that's not your way of proposing because I think you need to work on it haha. Be careful when you go home! I wouldn't be very happy if anything happened to you.**_

_**Don't worry, rach, nothing will happen to me. We only just found each other, the universe wouldn't be that cruel to heep us apart**_

She sent the message before she could proof-read it for drunken mistakes. She figured Rachel would like that. And a certain shorter, cuter, brunette appeared in her mind. Before she drifted off to sleep to the sound of Santana and Brittany's voices, she asked herself: _Which_ Rachel was she really falling for?

•••

**January 9th, 2016**

Sometimes in the silence of the night, in the deep heart of the dark, Quinn could hear the distant trickling of her blood in her veins, pounding through her body. A weary world of rivers, hauling their pain through the dark heat. She'd lie there strangely alert, and feel the inside of her body, as a great sadness engulfed her. From the sadness, betrayal began to run through those veins, outrage, a desperate need to fix everything.

That night she dreamt of Rachel; her _wife_ Rachel. She returned to Quinn so clearly in the dream that she could bring Rachel's features to sharp relief in her mind. The firm grip of her soft, warm hands, the wariness and occasional reproach in her dark brown eyes, the cool smooth texture of her skin. The dream narrative was less solid, it had almost completely evaporated on awakening in the morning—just fragments remained.

In the morning, Quinn made her way to the restaurant across the street from the hospital to meet with Rachel's fathers. It had taken her two days to get the courage to go through with what she had planned. As she sat down she glanced quickly at her reflection and willed her hands to stop shaking. She had to do this, it might be the only way to get Rachel back. Dear God, she prayed silently, please let this work. Please grant me victory.

Everything she was doing was wrong, Rachel had made her decision, after all.

Hiram and Leroy arrived a few minutes later, dressed in suits. They both looked tired with bags under their eyes. Neither Hiram nor Leroy's hair had been combed. They smiled at Quinn and pecked her on the cheek.

"To what do we owe this pleasure, Quinn?" Hiram said.

"Yes, it seems so formal of you to ask us to have breakfast," Leroy finished. "Is something the matter?"

She nodded appreciatively to the young waiter who had placed a bottle of water on their table and was now filling their glasses. "I have something I want to ask you,"

"Rachel's hand in marriage?" Hiram raised his glass. "I'm just joking, Quinn."

Considering the way she had proposed to Rachel, she was frightened for a moment that he _wasn't_ joking. "No," she chuckled. "I will do it differently the next time if I ever have to propose to her again."

Leroy placed his hand on top of hers. "Don't be ridiculous, Quinn. You and Rachel are forever."

She looked down the street to the grey-green water at the fountain, gleaming in the fading morning sunlight. She said nothing to this and was overcome with the sensation that she was dirty; she felt like a layer of grease had magically coated her skin.

"What's wrong, Quinn?" Leroy asked, patting her hand.

"I don't know an easy way to say this, so I'm just going to blurt it out." They watched her intently and her confidence faded. "I want Rachel to stay with me."

The waiter chose that moment to return to their table and take their orders. When he was gone their attention returned to the young woman across the table from them. Quinn was gleeful seeing the understanding in their eyes, she loved knowing that they were looking out for her, that they understood exactly what this meant to her.

Leroy took a deep breath. "Believe me when I say this, Quinn. We have tried to convince Rachel to stay with you. We told her it's the best thing for her memories, and that it's the only way for her to return to her previous life."

"But she refused to listen?" Quinn asked even though she knew the answer.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," Leroy said apologetically. "We've said everything we can think of. And I'm not sure forcing Rachel to live with you is a good idea either. Some time apart may be good for your marriage."

"You can visit us any time," Hiram added. "We've made the guest bedroom for you in case you ever decide to stay longer."

Yes, it was true, a parent's first instinct is to protect their child. But Quinn wanted to stand up and shout, scream it out: Rachel is my wife. She has to live with me. She has a obligated duty to fulfill the vow we made to one another on that joyous occasion.

Afterwards, she realized she never had a chance.


	3. Chapter 3

_For you, I've waited all these years  
>For you, I'd wait 'til kingdom come<br>Until my day, my day is done  
>And say you'll come, and set me free<br>Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me_

—Coldplay: 'Til Kingdom Come

•••

**September 6th, 2011**

She awoke to a too-bright room, the light hurt; she had to close her eyes and it seemed to take an eternity to open them again. She felt woozy, and dropped her head to the side. It took a few minutes but she gradually broke through the punishing, sluggish after-effects of her hangover. Quinn gratefully slurped at the glass of water on the bedside table, not minding the liquid sliding down her lips and chin. She took in the room again, this time aware of the two people on the bed across from her, under the comforter, making the inappropriate noises.

Once she took in the room more carefully, Quinn forced herself to sit against the headboard.

"Gross." Her mouth was dry, tasting like awful chemicals. "Can you two not do that in _here_?"

Santana shrieked when Quinn's words reached her ears and she fell off the bed. Quinn had to cover her eyes to shield herself from Santana's naked body.

Brittany, however, was more accommodating to Quinn's sudden wakefulness. "Hi, Quinn! Did you have a good sleep?"

"I thought you guys were dropping me home?" Her voice sounded croaky, almost like it wasn't hers.

"We did, but you fell asleep in the car and you wouldn't wake up and we couldn't find your house keys and we didn't want to wake your mom so we bought you back to my house." Brittany slid across the bed to allow Santana some room.

"You've put on some weight, Tubbers." Santana wailed, trying not to scream at Quinn for interrupting their morning sex session. "What do you eat?"

"Shut up, Santana." Quinn lost her composure and threw a pillow across the room, slightly missing Santana's head.

Brittany gave her girlfriend a hasty peck on the lips and retrieved her clothes. "We have to continue this when Quinn goes home, S," she slid on her underwear and t-shirt and before leaving the room, she said, "Who wants breakfast?"

Quinn heard Santana grunt under her breath before answering, "Yeah," she got up to put on her clothes. "I hate you right now." She said directly in Quinn's direction.

Quinn ignored her and dropped back down on the bed. Her head was throbbing, too painful to care about Santana's feelings. She needed an aspirin, stat! Quinn took deep breaths to pump some air into her lungs hoping it'll cure her hangover, her eyes firmly on the ceiling above. I wonder what Rachel's doing, was all she should think of in the midst of her throbbing headache. She did not look up when she heard footsteps thudding into the room until a hard, metal object was dropped on her head by Santana who was now beside her bed.

"Your phone kept going off. I had to hide it." She left in the same manner she had entered the room—thundering away.

"Why didn't you just put it on silent?" She whispered to herself as she checked her messages. Some were from Sam, another was from her sister and two from her mother. She ignored them and opened the email she received from Rachel.

_**Hello, I hope that you're awake and not passed out from exhaustion haha. Did you have a good night?**_

The email was sent at 6:28 a.m. Quinn checked the time and it was now 8:21 a.m. Rachel sure did wake up early.

_**I feel dead! Haha. I had a good night because I was talking to you :-) what are you doing now?**_

She lay back on her pillow and allowed the sounds that echoed gently through the house to bring her to complete wakefulness. Santana and Brittany's voices were just audible from the kitchen. Last summer when she was at Brittany's house, the three of them stripped the room bare of her posters, all images of movie stars, celebrities and pop stars; the only poster Brittany couldn't bring herself to part with was a black and white poster of Justin Beiber holding a cat—which hadn't amused Santana. Across from the single bed Quinn lay on—Brittany's queen bed—are photos of real people; people they knew. Cheerios, the glee kids, high school, even one of Mr. Shue.

Her phone vibrated and she tore her eyes away from a photo of Rachel Berry in a blue raincoat holding an over-sized black umbrella.

_**I don't have any plans as yet. I'm possibly just going to stay home and get ready for a wonderful semester of the new school year :-) What about you, Quinn? Any plans today?**_

Quinn's mood lifted immediately, but not for the right reasons. She tried to think of the new semester ahead, of glee, she tried to think of the movie she had seen last week, she even tried thinking of college—but she couldn't stop thinking of _Rachel Berry_, worse, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the photo of Rachel in the blue raincoat stuck on Brittany's wall. Memories from Puck's party came rushing back into her mind, the way Rachel kept staring at her with wide, shining eyes. Rachel's cheeky smile every time Quinn looked her way, as if she knew something Quinn didn't.

_**I'm at my friend's house so after breakfast I'll most likely go home, take a nice shower and sleep for the rest of the day to get rid of this hangover! :-( you need to come and take care of me.**_

Without waiting for a reply, she went to wash up in the bathroom and then downstairs to join her friends in the clothes she had worn the previous day. Brittany was breaking eggs over the frying pan, while Santana sat on the stool not bothering to peer up from her newspaper—she was most likely only pretending to read—when Quinn got herself a cup of coffee and pulled out a stool beside her. Quinn concluded that Santana was bitter with her for interrupting their sexy times.

"So, you're not going to talk to me at all?"

Santana licked her finger and flipped over a page from the newspaper, took a sip of her coffee—a loud slurp—and resumed reading. "We should get going if you want to buy your rabbit, B."

Brittany gave Quinn a surprised long, hard hug. That didn't earn her any brownie points with Santana because she grunted loudly. "Don't be like that, San! We have heaps of time, anyway. Right now we're having breakfast with Quinn and then we'll take her home."

"I ain't driving her home," Santana said defensively. "She lives like five blocks away."

"Five blocks is a long way," said Brittany. "We can't let Quinn walk home while she has a hangover,"

Santana snorted, almost choking on her coffee. "I doubt she'll care. Berry's house is on the way."

Quinn stiffened. As she looked at Santana she felt her stomach clench in fear and her hands grow cold. Santana returned her gaze, staring at Quinn with her bright, brown eyes, an almost inhumane stare. Suddenly, her mind was clear. She had to figure out a way to get out of this situation, _now_. Then Santana shifted her eyes to look at Brittany, and the tension shattered into nervous laughter.

Quinn didn't hear any kindness in Santana's voice when she spoke. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"San, don't..." Brittany said pleasantly.

"What?" Her voice was soft, but Quinn could still hear the amusement and she found it disconcerting. "I'm just supposed to ignore the fact that you two were basically eye-sexing each other all night? I might have had plenty of shots, Q, but I have an eye like an eagle and a hearing like the wolf. I see and hear _everything_ under any circumstances."

"If you're going to compare your—lack thereof—vision and hearing to any animal, I suggest the hawk and bat—"

"Geez, you're even starting to sound like, Berry. All that eye-sexing must have been contagious."

"Nothing is going on." Quinn said flatly, cutting a piece of bacon and bringing it to her mouth.

Santana raised her eyebrow and smiled. "Oh, really? What was all that—" she spoke in a squeakier, lighter tone, mimicking Quinn's. "Oh, Rachel, are you having a good time? You look bored roaming around and doing nothing. Do you want to go to the bathroom and make out with me?"

Quinn felt another quiver of fear, hairs lifting on the back of her neck. "You're an asshole. Is your life not dramatic enough that you want to make up shit about _my_ life?" She said in the coldest voice she could manage.

"You're angry. Which just proves something is going on," Santana said gravely. "You never get defensive unless it's serious."

"There's nothing going on!" She snapped. She felt foolish in front of Santana, like a child being humored by someone much older and more knowledgeable. It made her even angrier. "I was being nice. Is that not allowed? Besides, I had a few too many drinks thanks my stupid, alcoholic friend."

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy it," Santana was still laughing at her; Quinn could tell by her eyes. "The drinks, by the way. Not the staring at Rachel Berry's boobies—if you were a little confused at what I meant."

She swallowed, her nostrils flared as she breathed hard. She tried to keep her voice steady and dignified. "I'm going to leave now," she said. "Thanks for breakfast, B."

"But you hardly ate anything." Brittany pleaded.

"Let the unpressed lemon go, B. She obviously wants to get out of here as soon as possible to get naked with Rachel Berry." Santana shrugged mockingly and resumed reading her newspaper.

Santana's words had indeed found their target. Quinn was looking at her like she wanted to explode. There was a split second of silence, and then a scream as Quinn pushed Santana of off her stool and fell to the ground with a loud crash. Santana's words were jumbled together with curses, while Quinn was backed against the wall and appeared to be in shock herself. Before neither girls could grab one another, Brittany ran in-between her two enraged friends.

"Stop it you two! We're friends."

Santana turned to Brittany now. Her face was contorted. "No, we're fucking not!"

Brittany touched Santana's shoulder to calm her. "S, you started it,"

"The bitch didn't have to push me." She hissed.

Quinn's shock turned to outrage. "That's what you get for being a bitch yourself."

"Walk home, bitch."

"Quinn, please stay. We'll sort this out." Brittany's voice was shaking.

Brittany's quiet words calmed her. "No, I'm gonna go. Thanks for breakfast again. I'll see you at school."

A humid wind whipped her hair back and stung her face when she stepped outside. Oak leaves were flying around her, swirling in the air. She knew now what a towering rage meant; she didn't know what had made her push Santana off her seat. When she was with Santana a sort of instinct took over her. And at that moment, Quinn did feel that she'd rather risk anything than let Santana win this time. She had noticed, with half her mind, that Santana had been sitting back and feeling relaxed, enjoying the turn her game was taking. The other half of Quinn's mind was calculating how far Santana would continue to play the game.

Quinn strode past the purple beeches, the weeping willows and then the graveyard. Above, the clouds were flowing along like a lead-grey river. The limbs of the oaks and beeches lashed together wildly. A gust threw handfuls of leaves into her face.

Thoughts of _her _Rachel filled her mind, they were delightful and satisfying. Quinn smiled, letting her mind wander. The transition into dreaming was so smooth and gradual that she scarcely noticed it. But she knew, somehow, that she was dreaming. It was as if a little part of her was standing aside and watching the dream like a play.

Then she saw a flicker of movement and Rachel Berry appeared as she turned a corner onto the street—almost as if on cue. Her hair fell in tendrils around her face, her t-shirt was cut low and her shorts were tight, revealing far too much of her legs than was strictly decorous. If looked at quickly, she could be mistaken for a child. It was then Quinn noticed the light freckles on her clavicle and the fullness of her lips.

"Good morning, Quinn," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. She was clutching her iPod between her fingers. "Lovely day."

Quinn nodded. Until she had stepped out into the sunlight, she hadn't realized it was a lush summer morning, even though the skies weren't a clear blue. The last weeks of summer were beginning to dawn on her. During her short walk she was unable to escape Santana's wicked words, and was very, _very_ aware of the thrumming of angry blood coursing through her veins.

"Did you have a nice time last night? Noah was being overly douchey once Brittany, Santana and yourself left. He slipped on some water and fell into a puddle of mud in his alcohol-induced state." Rachel gave a rich laugh, her head tilting back into the sky.

The laughter sang through Quinn but as soon as those chocolate eyes locked onto her hazel ones, her anger was replaced by a happiness so great that she thought it would shatter her.

"Are you feeling alright, Quinn?"

Quinn composed and cleared her throat, feeling irritated with herself. "Yeah, fine. Just, slightly hungover."

"Oh, I suggest that's normal considering you drank quite a fair amount last night."

She shrugged and waited a few seconds before speaking. "I wasn't _that_ drunk. I still knew what I was doing."

"I'm glad you got home safe."

They stared awkwardly at one another—well, Quinn felt awkward anyway. The same force that was terrifying her was holding her there. This was out of control, she thought suddenly. Whatever was happening here was beyond her understanding, was nothing normal or sane. Quinn shook her head in bewilderment. None of it made sense, the way they were acting towards one another, the way Rachel would stare at her, the eerie politeness that was hanging in the air. It was only a few weeks ago when there used to be a fury, a sort of violence whenever she was breathing the same air as Rachel. Now, _nothing_ made sense. Desperately, she searched her mind for something that would offset the experience and would allow her to find peace and hold onto her calmness.

"This is weird." She said.

"What is?" Rachel feigned nonchalance.

"_This_," Quinn gestured her hand back and forth between herself and Rachel. "Is weird."

"We're exchanging pleasantries. What's so weird about that?" Rachel was looking at her oddly, with an expression she couldn't understand. It was a mixture of annoyance, and grudging respect—and something else.

Quinn sniggered. "_That's _what's weird. We're exchanging pleasantries. _Pleasantries_. Do you not understand anything, Berry?"

"I am utterly confused at this moment. Are you still drunk, Quinn?"

Frustrated with Rachel, she grunted loudly. "No, I'm not drunk!"

"No need to yell. I have perfect hearing."

"You're insane."

Rachel shifted from foot to foot, unable to comprehend Quinn's interrogations. "I have heard that once or twice before, therefore I suggest you attempt a bit more effort into offending me."

"I wasn't trying to offend you. I was simply pointing out that you're insane."

"Oh. May I ask why?"

"Because you keep staring at me like that!" From the smirk on Rachel's face, Quinn knew that she hasn't been imagining it, that those stares meant something and she demanded to know what. "Alright, spill it, Berry! What is it? Do I have something on my face? Did Santana tell you some lie about me? What is it?"

Rachel turned her head towards her house and didn't look at Quinn when she replied, "I assure you that none of your suggestions are true. In fact, I have absolutely no idea what you're—"

"Bull. Shit,"

"—talking about. If you wish, I may look elsewhere when engaging in conversations with you." She continued.

Quinn's mouth went dry. If there had been any color left in her face, it would have faded from view that instant. "Are you seriously going to take that route?"

"What would you suggest then, Quinn?" Rachel glanced quickly at her, and then back to the house. "You said I keep staring at you but you don't classify _how_ I stare at you, as a result I've come to the conclusion that I shouldn't stare at you at all."

Quinn's mouth hung agape and her breath caught in her throat.

"Why do you look so shocked?" Rachel's eyes did another quick glance.

"I finally know how insane you are." Quinn said tersely. "Will you just tell me what I did for you to keep staring at me like that?"

"Like _what_?" Rachel shouted, a hint of humor in her voice.

"Like you know something I don't! Like I did something to you. What did I do? Did I hurt you at Puck's party when I was drunk?" Quinn snapped back, gritting her teeth.

"If I may correct you, this all started _before_ you got drunk at Noah's party." She replied just as quickly as Quinn had snapped, and as soon as she realized what she had said, Rachel gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.

"A-ha!" Quinn pointed at her accusingly. "So it does mean something!"

Rachel shook her head vigorously, hand still clasped around her mouth. Her eyes guiltily looking away from Quinn's frustrated and angry ones.

"Berry. Look. At. Me," she said coldly. "Tell me, now."

Rachel refused to meet her eyes.

"You look guilty." She studied Rachel's trembling hands and her voice softened. "Why are you trembling? I couldn't have done anything _that_ bad to you... could I?" She breathed in deeply, trying to swallow the huge lump in her throat. "Did I accidentally hit you in my sleep? Drunk texted you? Drunk email? Did I forget to reply to a text you sent me? Oh, did I not follow you on tumblr?"

Rachel dropped her hand at the mention of tumblr and Quinn racked her brain for a coherent thought to stop her from spiraling out of control. "It has something to do with tumblr, doesn't it?"

Rachel's eyes flickered with recognition and Quinn felt a faint spell coming over her, but fortunately, she was able to resist. The thought of tumblr made her feel guilty because she hasn't yet replied to _her_ Rachel's messages, and nauseated at the thought that Rachel Berry was her mysterious internet—girlfriend(?). A sharp twinge hit the pit of her gut, and another bone-chilling gust whipped through the walls of her heart.

"Rach..." The name tumbling out. She'd be lying if she said she didn't like the way it sounded. "You're not... I mean, you can't be—"

Rachel took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I don't have a tumblr, Quinn."

Quinn missed the fact that Rachel answered without knowing the question.

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, forcing her fear to dissipate at hearing those words. Somehow, she didn't entirely believe the girl in front of her. "Don't lie, Rach," she whispered. "Please."

Suddenly, Quinn couldn't breathe. Rachel was standing so close. Close enough to touch. She could smell the faint hint of daisies. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rachel's hand lift, and for a second her heart was beating faster than ever at the thought that Rachel was about to touch her. But the beats subsided when instead, Rachel's hand tugged at the sleeve of her jacket.

"There was a bug on your jacket," she smiled. "I should really go inside and shower. My morning run has left me with a bad stench."

Quinn reached out to grab onto Rachel's wrist as she was about to turn and leave, her skin ravaged by chills. She ignored them as best she could. "You didn't answer my question."

"Rachel!" A booming voice echoed from within the house and a moment later, a tall African-American man opened the front door, peering down at the two girls. "Your breakfast is getting cold."

Quinn stumbled back a bit, completely stunned by the abrupt interruption.

"Coming, daddy," Rachel slumped her shoulders in what seemed like relief. "I'll see you at school, Quinn." She beamed brightly.

"Aren't you going to invite your friend in for breakfast, Rachel?" He took the few steps down towards the girls and extended his hand out to Quinn. "Leroy Berry. Nice to meet you, Quinn."

Quinn returned his gesture, smiling politely. What she wouldn't give to fall into a hole at this moment. "Nice to meet you, sir,"

"Sir? No one's called me that in years. I like this one." He winked at Rachel and the same uneasy feeling she had been feeling for what seemed like forever, returned. "Would you like to have breakfast with us?"

"Daddy," Rachel said. "Quinn has to go home and shower and rest and prepare for school,"

Quinn nodded without voicing her agreement while Leroy spoke, "She can shower and rest after breakfast,"

"She's got a terrible hangover," Rachel said.

"All the more reason to have breakfast,"

"And she smells." Rachel stated matter-of-factly.

"Hey!" That certainly got Quinn to speak. "I do not!"

"You do, Quinn." Rachel protested. "Please," she said with both her eyes and mouth. The brown glow of her dark eyes were dimmer. "Go home and shower appropriately. I wish to see you hygienically flawless at school."

Quinn raised an eyebrow and couldn't help the snigger that escaped her lips.

"She's such a charmer, isn't she?" Leroy pulled Rachel into a light hug, giving Quinn a sheepish smile. "Very well, we'll have you over next time. When you smell appropriate enough for Rachel's standards." He kissed a stunned Quinn on the cheek and went back into the house leaving the girls alone once again.

"Do you talk about me?" Quinn asked.

"No," she replied instantly. "Why would I?"

"It seems like you do, Berry."

Rachel straightened herself, wiping a few strands of hairs away from her face. Her eyes twinkling with optimism. "I'm going to go inside now. See you at school, Quinn."

"Yeah..."

Quinn watched Rachel enter her house, and she stood composing herself for a few minutes, trying to clear her mind of the exchange between them. She didn't receive a proper answer to anything and it left her at an even more confused state. She ran passed the traffic lights at the end of the street, she turned the corner pass the children's playground, passed the local library and a few steps later when she was in the comfort of her own home, she read the emails she received from Rachel.

The first email was sent at 9:01 a.m. _**I want more than anything to take care of you :-( Sadly, the universe doesn't like us very much and has decided to keep us apart!**_

The second was only a few minutes ago. _**I hope you have a good sleep once you're at home. I have experienced a hangover once myself and it is not pleasant! Get plenty of rest and drink lots of water! Let me know when you wake up and maybe we can chat? xo**_

Quinn walked around in circles in the confines of her bedroom, her hands were sweaty and her stomach was full of an unsettling feeling she couldn't place. Her pulse was racing even faster than when she had done laps during Cheerios practice. She tried to release the tension in her neck by tilting her head to the right and left, but it didn't work. She attempted to console herself with the thought that she had finally found someone who was a challenge—and that made Rachel different, she was interesting and exotic and exciting—but that bought her no comfort either. There was something eerily familiar with _her _Rachel and Rachel Berry—it was slowly torturing her trying to figure it out.

_**Sorry for the extremely late reply, I've had a crazy morning. Are you free in about half an hour? Can we chat?**_

She took off her clothes and slumped deliriously beneath the spray of water in her shower. She slowly allowed her body to slacken in the enveloping heat, sighing deeply and closing her eyes to the world. As the water released its delicious heat, Quinn allowed herself a small smile remembering what Rachel had said to her in the emails. A flood of emotions briefly resurfaced—emotions she knew she had towards _her_ Rachel; the excitement of that first message Rachel had sent her on tumblr, the eagerness she felt every time she saw a 1 New Message notification, the fondness of the way they flirted with each other in the early stages, and the indescribable titillation of her heart when they spoke about their feelings for one another.

The realization that she was falling in love was slowly and deeply sinking in.

Her internet girlfriend (yes, girlfriend) could not be Rachel Berry. So, the way _her_ Rachel typed was similar to the way Rachel Berry talked, so what? It proves that _her_ Rachel is extremely verbose and brilliant. It was much better than dating someone like, Finn Hudson—who was completely dull and tedious. Or Sam, who bore her with his dorkiness. And Puck was, well, Puck. He couldn't compare to Rachel. No one could. She needed clarification, like a picture, or to hear Rachel's voice. It had been almost a month since they've been talking, Quinn knew they were ready to discuss this _relationship_. Where it would lead to, what the future held, how serious they were about one another.

She let the water wash off the shampoo and soap on her body, then she flattened her damp hair against her scalp, wrapped a towel around her torso, another around her hair and stepped out onto the bath mat. She examined herself in the mirror. It was funny how she heard from guys how nervous they felt before going out on a date with her, how their palms got sweaty and their stomach were full of butterflies. Quinn had always found such stories amusing. Until, of course, it happens to her. Yet, Quinn hadn't even met Rachel and the thought of seeing her, touching her, speaking to her, filled her stomach with butterflies, and it wasn't her hands that were sweaty, it was her whole body.

The early onset of sweat began to happen when Quinn logged onto her account and _everlyluminiscent_ was online. If the sweating continued on a regular basis, she may die from dehydration before she got the chance to meet this mysterious girl.

_**hey!**_

_**Hello, Quinn :-)**_

_**did you wait long?**_

_**Not overly long. But decently long enough.**_

_**what does that even mean? haha. you're so cute!**_

_**It means that you said half an hour. It has now been approximately fifty minutes! I'm mad at you!**_

_**Aww Rach, don't be mad! How about for the rest of the day I use correct grammar? Would that make you happy? :-)**_

_**The rest of the week!**_

Quinn pondered this, fascinated by this view of Rachel. The other girl was extremely passionate about correct grammar and spelling.

_**Alright, just for you! the rest of the week.**_

_***The, Quinn. A capital after the exclamation mark! Your first mistake, I'm very disappointed in you.**_

_**Will today's conversation only consist of you correcting my grammatical errors? Where is the: "how have you been, Quinn?" or "I've missed you heaps and heaps?" :-(**_

_**I was going to say I missed you, but I've been waiting for so long I kinda don't anymore...**_

_**Lies! I'm very missable! Besides, you only waited an extra 20 minutes. At least ask me how I've been**_

_**Is something the matter? You did say in your email you've had a crazy morning.**_

She wanted to demand that Rachel send proof that she wasn't Rachel Berry, she wanted to do a skype session right away, a phone call, anything, just to ease the unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. But just as quickly, she wanted to say sorry for even doubting that Rachel would lie to her and she felt terrible now that these thoughts crossed her mind. But she didn't know how to begin. Finally, she settled on,

_**Santana was being annoying**_

_**You best friend, Santana?**_

_**not exactly my best friend**_

_**What happened?**_

_**What I'm about to tell you please don't be mad at me after you've read it**_

_**O... kay?**_

Quinn mustered all her energy to begin typing. Rachel deserved the truth.

_**It's just that... there's this girl, Rachel Berry. I've told you about her. Yesterday at Puck's party I had a few drinks and in my intoxicated state I might have been staring at her for longer than I should. And Santana noticed and she used that against me this morning. But nothing's going on, I swear! Santana just wouldn't let it go**_

And with baited breath she waited a whole of five minutes for a reply. When she got none, she typed,

_**Rach? Are you still there?**_

Another five minutes passed and still no response. Her heart was beating so fast she knew it couldn't be good for her health.

_**You're mad, I understand. But please say something. I wanted to tell you because we're so far apart and you're not here to know what I'm doing and I want to let you know that I'm devoted to you 100% and I felt so bad when Santana pointed it out this morning**_

Finally, a message popped up,

_**Do you like her?**_

_**No! of course not. No way!**_

Quinn's fingers hoovered over eight certain letters, a _should I_, _should I not, _battle happening in her head. The, _screw it I can't deny this anymore_ won in the end.

_**I love you**_

If she listened close enough, she could probably hear a pin drop somewhere in her house, or even in her neighborhood. Quinn even thought her heart had stopped beating.

_**We've never said that to each other before.**_

_**I mean it**_

_**I've been kind of curious. How drunk were you last night?**_

Quinn wasn't in any state to ask where this change in topic was going. At the same time, she hadn't expected a rejection after she said I love you to someone she hadn't met and had known for just under a month.

_**I guess, a lot? But I still knew what I was doing**_

_**I wasn't sure when you told me you've decided you were going to marry me whether it was serious or not.**_

_**I didn't say it because I was drunk**_

That didn't sound right, so she rephrased it,

_**What I'm trying to say is, I was drunk which was why I said it. But if you think I regret saying it, then I don't**_

_**I was scared when I started to get feelings for you. We've never met and I didn't know where this would lead to, but curiosity took the better of me and the more we talked the more I fell for you and although we don't know a lot about each other, I can honestly say that I love you too.**_

Quinn heard fireworks, a cheer erupt, an orchestra playing the most cheesy love song possible. She did a little dance. Her cheeks hurt from the wide smile on her face. She was shaking. She knew that she had died and went to heaven because she had never been this happy on Earth.

_**Thank you for telling me about you and Rachel Berry.**_

_**I don't want to hide anything from you. I feel like I can finally be myself and it's such a relief, like a weight has been lifted. It's all because of you  
>I feel like I've been talking to you forever, but then I think that doesn't make sense cause then it'll seem like I've been waiting for you forever.<strong>_

_**Quinn Fabray, I didn't know you could be such a romantic.**_

Quinn read the sentence again. Her mind refused to make sense of what her eyes were seeing. No, she hadn't told Rachel her last name. The name on her email account only read 'Quinn F'. She didn't even know Rachel's last name. She couldn't look away from the sentence, even if she could have shut her eyes, every detail was etched upon her memory.

Her small bedroom filled with chaos. Some great wind had torn through, leaving destruction in its path. The seat she was sitting on shook violently, the contents of her chair strewn about the floor. One window was shattering. All of her possessions, all the things she had kept so carefully and prized, were scattered like rubbish.

_**Rach, how did you know my last name?**_

With a quick swivel around her chair, she saw the remnants of her room were neatly intact, she was still sitting in the chair, her things and prized possessions remained as they were. The shattering chaos that occurred in her mind had felt so real.

_**I found you on Facebook**_**.**

Quinn typed slowly, dazedly,

_**How did you know it was me? We've never seen each other, and my profile's on provate  
>*priovite<br>Dammit! PRIVATE**_

Quinn imagined Rachel giggling at her mistakes.

_**Yes, that is true. But you listed William McKinley High as the school you're attending and that wasn't private. It's rather a funny story. I only typed in your name on the search bar and your one was the first on the list. I thought this Quinn Fabray is extremely pretty, she must be Quinn because your email says Quinn F. So I clicked on it and I knew right away. Quinn is such a unique name, how many could there really be who reside in Ohio and is studying at McKinley?**_

Quickly, she opened her Facebook page, clicked into _edit my profile_, then she clicked into _education and work_ on the tab located on the left, and to the right of where she had listed William McKinley High as the school she's attending was a little privacy symbol. She hoovered her mouse over it and the setting was set to _public_.

She felt a rush of shame and laughed humorlessly at her stupidity. She really needed to stop doubting Rachel, she needed to let go of this fear that this girl was Rachel Berry.

_**I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so accusing**_

_**I understand.**_

_**No, I shouldn't doubt you**_

_**You have insecurities, it's understandable. Everyone does.**_

_**Do you?**_

_**Of course I do.**_

_**About what?**_

_**That you won't like me once you find out who I am.**_

Without a thought, Quinn typed quickly, feeling passionate intensity rise within her.

_**You're being ridiculous. Why wouldn't I like you? nothing could make me not like you. do you think I said "I love you" and told you that cheesy speech just so I could make you insecure about my feelings towards you? I've never cared about anything until I met you**_

_**It's hard to explain. I just hope you'll understand once we meet.**_

_**You're scaring me a little, rach**_

_**I don't mean to. I never meant any of this to happen.**_

_**Are you regretting it now?**_

Quinn hoped Rachel could sense the anger she felt in that one sentence.

_**I regret the way I've handled this.**_

_**What are you talking about?**_

While waiting for the other girl to finish typing, she got up to put on new and comfortable clothes and removed the towel that was wrapped around her hair. She finished just as a new message popped up.

_**This whole time we've been talking and I've realized how amazing you are, Quinn. From the very first moment I've been intrigued. You let people see a side of you that isn't really you, but with me – right now – you're different and I couldn't help being pulled in. I thought that overtime maybe these feelings would pass or I had mistaken them for something else, but it's been building and building everyday to the point I can't deny the way I feel about you anymore. I wished more than anything I had the courage to tell you from the beginning but I've been so scared of how you'd react that I just – for lack of a better word – fluked it. And now I'm so worried you won't understand why I did what I did.**_

Quinn was too stunned to move, let alone process her thoughts. She had melted at Rachel's every word, but there was something wounded within her. Was it pride? Anger? Regret? Hurt? It was probably all of the above.

_**What did you have to do, Rach?**_

_**I think we should meet. I'm going to be in Lima the week coming. We should meet somewhere.**_

_**But don't you have school?**_

_**Well, I meant on the weekend.**_

_**What will you be doing here?**_

_**Meeting you, I hope :-)**_

_**Id dyou just decide to come up here out of the blue? Who will you be staying with? What are you plans for the weekend?  
>*did you<br>*your**_

This was happening faster than she had expected.

_**I've thought about it for a while. Unless you don't want to meet me?**_

_**Of course I do, I didn't think it'll happen this way, is all. One miunute you were talking about being sorry about something and now you want us to meet. It's all very confusing  
>*minute<strong>_

_**You're making a lot of mistakes lol.**_

_**I'm literally shaking!**_

_**I'm sorry if I surprised you. What I want to tell you I want to do it in person, and since I'll be in town I just figured you'd want to see me too.**_

_**I don't even know how you look like yet, rach. I don't even have your number, we've never spoken on the phone. After you say something like that how am I supposed to let it go?**_

_**Would you like my phone number? We could start talking on the phone for the next few days to get better acquainted.**_

Quinn continued to stare at the screen, her eyes burned like the ice at the bottom of a glacier. She kept staring in hopes that she could see right through her laptop and see Rachel sitting on her end, typing away, giggling.

_**I would like that, yes.  
>But you could also send me a photo of you. it seems unfair that you know what I look like and I have no clue what you look like<strong>_

_**It's a surprise, Quinn ;-)**_

_**:-( you're not playing fair**_

_**Well, if you be good I'll send you a picture.**_

_**I've been extremely good!**_

_**You've made heaps of grammatical errors. That's not being good haha**_

_**:-P you're lucky that I find your obsessive-compulsiveness adorable. If it were anyone else I'll tell them to shove it!  
>Will you at least tell me your last name? I'll find you on Facebook lol<strong>_

_**Rachel Heroy.**_

•••

**January, 11th, 2016**

_Lima Daily News, November 25th, 2015  
>BROADWAY SENSATION INVOLVED IN HIGHWAY ACCIDENT<em>

_Broadway sensation Rachel Barbra Berry was involved in a car accident last night at approximately 11:30 p.m. east of the Massachusetts state line, when her car and a truck collided. East bound traffic was delayed for more than two hours. Miss Berry, 22, and her wife of six months, Miss Quinn Fabray, 23, were heading home to Lima, Ohio for Thanksgiving. Both are currently fighting for their lives in Massachusetts hospital where it is believed that Miss Berry has suffered severe brain damage and several major bruises._

_Police have interviewed a 45-year old truck driver from Alabama who was transporting goods from a manufacturing plant to a distribution center in Brewster, Massachusetts. Police have examined the scene. The driver had driven under the speed limit but due to the ice and snow on the roads, he was unable to brake accurately, however, it's been reported that the truck driver was a victim of negligent driving, having failed to stop at a give-way sign before his truck hit into Miss Berry's. A police spokesperson said that Miss Fabray has declined to lay any charges against the driver._

For a long time Quinn carried this clipping in her purse, as if it were the thing that made their relationship immortal. When she realized the folly of such a bearing while she read it for the umpteenth time, she crumpled it and threw it away. It was a decisive moment in establishing a forward momentum. There were brief moments in the past two months when she felt that there might come a time when everything will fit into place and she will accept the accident as part of her life. That Rachel's memory loss was part of her life, for some bizarre reason ordained by the greater forces. Imperceptibly, more time passes when she's not remembering their past moments together, not recreating their every conversation, re-imagining the smiles and laughter and banter. Her consciousness of these moments of relief from the thought of her _wife_ Rachel—as opposed to the Rachel who had awoken from a coma—usually comes to her as a shock. She will think, with some delight, she just spent four minutes enjoying herself. How did that happen?

The emotional roller-coaster was constant. One day she'd be riding on a high because Rachel simply smiled at her with a little bit of twinkle in her eyes. The next day she would drop down to the depths of despair because Rachel had lashed out at her again for something she wasn't sure she had done or because one more potential memory jogger—a picture, a name, a letter, a memento—had failed to bring back any resemblance of their life together.

When Rachel was released from the hospital many things had changed; indeed, most days Quinn felt nothing but the future, a violent wind slamming into her face. The past was beginning to seem like a town across a river whose bridge had been destroyed, but there was a dreadful sense of anticlimax and a painful choking of emotions at Rachel's return.

Hiram swung the car into a small street and Quinn was suddenly reminded of her childhood. Her father had once taken her for a walk down these streets. The neighborhood had been bare of trees back then, the sun had scorched the asphalt streets and Quinn remembered being mesmerized by the shimmering heat that seemed to rise in opaque waves from the concrete. Quinn glanced at Rachel who was looking out of the window to a newly renovated red-brick house sitting desolately between two small weatherboard houses.

Kurt and Mercedes immediately ran from the garage. Tina, Mike, Artie and Sam emerging triumphantly behind them. Santana, Brittany and Puck came out into the veranda and watched their six friends hug Rachel, holding her in a firm grip, grinning widely. A flush of pure pleasure ran through Quinn. She wanted to shout and sing and grab everyone—including the whole house—and hold onto this moment forever.

Her friends whipped around realizing for the first time she was there. She wanted to laugh; their shining faces, their bright expectant eyes.

"Hello to you, too." Quinn was overjoyed.

"You look great, Rach," Kurt said. "A bit thin and pale, but nothing makeup and a new outfit can't fix."

Rachel pouted, examining herself. "What's wrong with my outfit?"

"Besides the fact that you're back to wearing an animal sweater, Mary Janes with white stockings? Nothing much," he said sarcastically. "I mean, I've spent the last two years taking you shopping and re-arranging your wardrobe and for what, so you can go back to wearing animal sweaters? No, thanks. You're twenty-one and you look like a twelve year old."

Mercedes linked her arm with Rachel's. "Ignore him, Rach. Mr. Hot Shot Fashionista here wants to brag about how he got an internship with Louis Vuitton but didn't want to rain on your home-coming parade."

Rachel jumped towards Kurt, almost knocking him to the ground and kissing his cheeks several times. "That's amazing, Kurt! Wow, I have missed out on so much."

"Well, actually, the internship only happened yesterday when no other than Mr. Louis Vuitton rang me himself and said he loved the fashion project I did for my final—"

From the veranda, Santana could be heard shouting. "Alright, alright people! I'm starving! Can we take the parade inside?"

Quinn stifled an urge to laugh. She looked across to where the others were, all keenly awaiting Rachel's return.

"Coming Santana," Mercedes shouted. "Not all of us are self-centered like you."

While the rest of her friends walked inside the house with Rachel, Quinn helped Hiram unpack the groceries. Leroy had laid out a feast on the kitchen table: a lentil dahl, samosas and eggplant, a potato salad and a salad of dill and black beans. Judy was standing in front of the stove waiting to throw calamari into the sizzling pan. Quinn put the groceries onto the kitchen bench and gave her mother a small peck on the cheek.

"How are you holding up, Quinn?" She asked softly.

"Okay, mom. I'm just glad she's home."

The laughter from the living room slowly enticed her away from the woman in the kitchen and she eventually, quietly, went to sit next to Santana. Leroy placed a tray of vegetable pies on the table and everyone instantaneously swooped in. Puck appeared a few seconds later holding a bottle of beer.

"Where did you get that, Noah?" Leroy asked incredulously.

He immediately froze and hid the bottle behind his back as if hoping it would magically disappear. "Uh... I—"

"I thought I hid those," Leroy interrupted.

"You did, Mr. B," Puck answered. "Just not good enough."

"I need to find a new hiding place. Somehow you always get your hands on my liquor when you come over here." He sighed heavily and Puck grinned with pride.

"There is so much food, Mr. B, we are never going to finish all this." Artie said triumphantly.

Leroy opened his mouth to respond but Rachel broke him off. "Wait, since when you do guys call my daddy, _Mr. B_?"

Brittany placed an arm around her and squeezed her hand. "Since a long time, Rachel. Mr. B always invites us over for lunch and sometimes dinner."

"Then what do you call my dad?"

"Mr. B-2." Santana laughed and everyone else followed.

"Yes?" Hiram answered at being called. "What are we laughing at?"

"We were just explaining to Rachel that we call you Mr. B-2 and Leroy Mr. B." Tina explained.

"Oh," he nodded in acceptance. "Apparently, Mr. Berry is hard to say."

"Not to mention we get confused," Leroy added. "This way it's much easier."

Most of the conversations focused on the re-telling of what Rachel has missed out on in the past five years. Mercedes and Sam are living together in Los Angeles and she's a vocal teacher at a local high school while he is still in college studying Sports Physiotherapy. Artie bought a small recording studio—also in L.A.—and is currently doing some final touches of advertisement. Puck opened his own pool cleaning business in Lima. Business has started to boom and he sings at local clubs on weekends. Tina is teaching English in West Hollywood, Mike is working for a company called Hollywood Dance but is planning on buying his own studio once he has enough money. Tina and Mike are still going strong. Kurt found his passion in fashion, leaving NYADA in his second year to pursue that path. Santana is in her final year of Law School at Boston University while working at a law firm to make ends meet, while Brittany is now a member of a touring dance crew with multiple famous artists. This requires her to be on the road for several long periods, but she and Santana commute back and forth between Boston and California.

"Santana, Boston... wow," Rachel told her with a bright smile. "If I remember correctly, that's ranked number twenty-second on the best Law Schools in the country."

Santana shrugged. "I'm not just a pretty face you know, Berry. I could've gotten into Harvard, but you know, they didn't accept me because I'm too glorious for them."

"You're all very successful," Rachel gushes. "I'm so proud of all of you."

"Well," Sam said. "I think we have you to thank for that,"

"Me? Why?"

"Because you were our captain in high school. You were so ambitious I think it made all of us ambitious." He adds with a huge smile.

Rachel smiles widely at the compliment. "Co-captain. If you haven't forgotten—I know I haven't—Finn was also captain."

At the mention of his name, Quinn frozed and she almost thought she dreamt Rachel asking, "Where is Finn today? Was he not invited?"

Her friends glanced at each other warily, speaking in silence with their eyes. Rachel's body slumped and Quinn was the one to answer. "No, he wasn't invited."

There were silences during the lunch. The foreboding of things to come. Rachel seemed to have trouble concentrating. Quinn noticed this new habit of staring at salt shakers, glasses, walls. A small furrow, like an arrow pointing downwards to the bridge of her nose would appear every time she concentrated too hard on anything.

"Blaine's working today and sends his apologies that he wasn't able to fly out to see you," Kurt reassured. "He said he'll try and make it this week."

"What does Blaine do?" she asked.

"He's in marketing. A product manager, in fact," Kurt beamed. "A long shot away from his high school years of singing and dancing but you know, he does all the boring stuff like planning, forecasting and marketing products for sale. He likes to boss people around so it suits him." He chuckled lightly.

Judy brought a jug of water from the kitchen and stood behind Rachel, stroking her hair lightly. She wrapped her arms around her neck and leaned in close to squeeze her. "It's so wonderful to have you back." Rachel gave a tense smile but didn't reply to Judy's gesture. Quinn heard Hiram grunt a little when Rachel pulled away.

Between the main course and dessert there was a lull. Mercedes rabbited on about the unseen creatures that have been attacking her garden in the dead of the night and Kurt informed her that she wasn't using the proper insect repellents.

"How would you know, Kurt?" Mike chimed in. "One time you called me over to take care of a snail because you didn't want the acids that were contained in the snail repellent to dry your skin," Mike then sniggered at the memory. "It was so funny when you squealed."

"When was this?" Santana asked.

"Two months ago, I think." He answered.

Santana broke off a piece of bread and threw it at Kurt. "You called me a few weeks back and asked me to do the same thing. You said this was the first time it's happened."

Kurt put his hands up in defeat when Santana continued to throw pieces of bread at him. "_Hijo de puta!_"

"You don't understand," Kurt defended. "There are acids contained in those repellents that corrode your skin and could possibly thin out your hair."

"What about _my_ hair?" Santana teased. "That day I hadn't been to New York in ages and instead I spend my day at your apartment trying to kill a _snail_."

When the laughter subsided, Tina asked Rachel, "So what's the last thing you remember?"

"Everything is rather blurred. I remember it being Christmas, and I cheated on Finn with Noah and he still hadn't forgiven me. Oh," she pointed at Brittany and Artie. "You two are still dating and you still believed in Santa Claus."

"Santa is real, Rach. Did you forget that too when you woke up from the accident?" Brittany asked in confusion, examining her closely.

Rachel, not wanting to see any hurt on her face, said, "Umm... Oh yeah, I forgot."

Brittany sighed in relief and hugged her friend. "Thank God you haven't forgotten him. He might not bring you presents next year."

Quinn placed both hands on the table and stumbled to her feet. "I'm gonna get some fresh air,"

Judy poked her head around from the kitchen. "Are you okay, Quinn?"

"Yeah, I'm just gonna be outside if anyone needs me."

Outside, she tried to piece together all that she knew about _this_ Rachel. It bought her back to when she was seventeen and Rachel was sixteen. Finn had been in their lives then, Finn had been Rachel's world. Every song, every glance, every touch—was all for him. She didn't know much about their relationship. All she knew was once it began, it could continue. She wished she knew what to expect: would it continue on a daily/weekly basis, or would it continue in one deposit?

Quinn's eyes followed Rachel, watched her fill her plate, observed the fine ripples on her throat as she took a sip of water. She ate delicately, slowly, but with obvious relish, enjoying the rich food. She wiped at her mouth, casually, unconcerned.

When Rachel's eyes meet hers they're murky, serious and tired. She waited for the tears to come, ten seconds, thirty seconds, a minute, and suddenly she can no longer cry. She groaned a few times through the slits that are her eyes. She stared at her shoes, at the grey swirls of the concrete floor and she realized it's kind of a horror—that things might end.

"Quinn?" Judy stepped out onto the veranda and Quinn looked back out into the distance. "Rachel will come around,"

"Everyone keeps telling me that. But I don't feel it,"

Judy's expression was unamused. "Listen here, young lady. I watched how hard the both of you struggled to keep this relationship together when you were in high school," she put one hand on her hip and the other was pointing a finger at Quinn. "I watched how hard you both made it work during college. I don't want to hear any of this nonsense about losing faith or thinking Rachel doesn't love you anymore."

"She doesn't, mom,"

"How is she supposed to love you when all you've done is force her into remembering the past, or seeing you mope around the hospital with eyes that look like you're angry at the world?" Quinn did not blink and let her mother continue talking. "She doesn't know _you_, Quinn. She knows the _high school_, Quinn. That's not you. She needs to fall in love with you."

Quinn, who believed the world was spiraling out of control, that it had dislodged from its axis, that the ether could not expand fast enough to contain the implosion—was certain of two things in her life. One, that her mother was the best mother on the planet. And two, regardless of how her wife felt about her, she still loved Rachel unconditionally. Everything else did not matter.

"Thanks, mom." Her voice was full of admiration.

Judy wrapped her daughter around her arms. She gripped hold of her so tightly, with such desperate force, that Quinn thought she might squeeze the very life out of her. "You have to have faith. Isn't that what Rachel used to say to you?"

"Yeah," Quinn mumbled, her voice a little shaky. "I should probably go and apologize to her."

Quinn found Rachel in her room, crouched in front of the bookcase. Unlike the one in their New York apartment, this bookshelf was high, almost reaching the ceiling, with deep recesses; you'd need a chair to reach the books at the top. Rachel touched the stained dark wood and eyed the film of dust on her finger. Quinn wondered whether she was trying to remember when she was last in her room. The bottom half of the shelf was filled with DVDs and other old movies. She watched as Rachel took out the thick biography of the German playwright, Bertolt Brecht. On the lowest shelf there were two photo albums—Rachel retrieved one of them and sat with her legs crossed.

"That's when we started dating," Quinn recognized the contents of the album before Rachel could examine the picture carefully. "Officially."

"You did this?"

"No," Quinn sat next to her, carefully tracing her finger over a photo Quinn had taken while Rachel was asleep on her bed. "You did. You said—and I quote—This photo album will contain substantial moments in our relationship."

"That does sound like something I'd say."

Quinn giggled. She actually _giggled_. The sound was so foreign when it left her lips.

Rachel turned the pages and there were photos of younger versions of herself and Quinn. The next few pages established their remaining high school years. Rachel's cheeks were fuller, there were no heavy shadows under her eyes, she seemed... _happy_. There was another of her in a sunflower bikini, her tan skin was a rich copper. Rachel had a camera in her hands and took a photo of Quinn, who was taking a photo of _Rachel _with her iPhone. Both photos were placed next to each other, wide smiles on their faces.

"When was this?" Rachel asked indicating to the photo of her in a sunflower bikini. "I have that bikini?"

"Santana's house, the summer after graduation. You have a lot of those bikinis." She said with a wink.

There were dozens of photos taken at the beach with the glee kids. The sky and water were an intense seductive blue, the light was the glare of a hot Ohio summer. She turned another sleeve and Quinn heard her gasp.

There were two photos; one of them on Quinn's bed, lips together. It was a rough and difficult kiss because Rachel couldn't stop laughing and Quinn mashed their lips together and quickly snapped the photo. The second was of them at a park, it was their eighth month anniversary and Quinn had planned a picnic at the local park. They sat under a tree, watching passer-bys, the greenness of the day and fed ducks. The kiss was much sweeter in the second photo; it was a soft peck, both with content smiles as their lips touched. Beneath it Quinn scrolled in her handwriting,

_You are possibly the most adorable thing on the planet, and I just want to say that I love you. But I don't just love you, I'm in love with you. Like ridiculously so._

Rachel snapped the album shut and Quinn felt her heart was going to splinter. Quinn remained quiet hoping Rachel might start talking, but she continued to pace around her bed.

"Rach, I'm sorry. For forcing you to remember everything. It should come naturally," she started and she felt her head go light at watching Rachel pace endlessly. "And I'm going to be here to support you no matter what. I love you, and even though you might not feel the same—"

"We loved each other a lot, didn't we?"

Rachel's voice stopped her mid-sentence and she sighed heavily at the word _loved_. "Yes. I still _love_ you."

"Even after everything?"

Slowly, Quinn moved forward, her hand rising towards Rachel's face. Her fingers brushed over her cheek. "Even after everything."

"But why? I've put you through so much since I woke up. I haven't given you a chance to explain anything. In fact, I haven't given you a chance _at all_."

"I love you." Quinn emphasized again.

And just like that, standing barefoot and alone in the room that she had once called home with the woman she loves, Quinn felt the world tilt. Hope existed. She wanted to proclaim her love for Rachel again and again, but common sense reeled her back. Here she was, enamored and heartsick and consumed by the desire to kiss her wife and hold her and never let her go, but couldn't. Not until she knew with absolute certainty that Rachel was ready to be intimate, that Rachel wouldn't recoil every time Quinn touched her.

There was a sudden noise downstairs—plates or bowls splattering on the floor—but Rachel ignored it, too lost in her thoughts. "I don't know how we're going to make this work."

Quinn felt her throat was going to close. She could not bring herself to make another sound.

Rachel inhaled deeply, like she was about to dive underwater. "I want to try and make this work... With you—with _us_."

Quinn was in such awe that she was rendered speechless.

"You can speak now, Quinn." Rachel muttered.

Quinn's pulse was racing uncontrollably.

"Or—not. I mean," Rachel said again in the silence of the room. "I'll wait till you say something."

When Rachel took a step back out of their bubble, Quinn was quick to say, "I was surprised, that's all."

"Oh," she was confused. "About what?"

"That you want to try and make this work."

Rachel shifted her gaze away from Quinn to the photo album on her bed. "We look extremely happy in those photos. I owe you this for having put you through so much. The least I could do is give this a chance and maybe I will remember our past, maybe I won't. But we have to have faith, right? We have to have faith that everything will work out in our favor."

Rachel's words made Quinn's whole body sing, the world brightened. Rachel had said this to her countless times during the past five years. It was possible to believe, not just hope. She gazed deep into the chocolate, flaming eyes and saw no doubt or fear or futility reflected back at her. All that existed was the sparkle of unadulterated happiness. In that moment, she didn't feel human. She was an angelic spirit, soaring on the wings of love. Did Rachel remember something, or was this another 'flash memory'?

As Quinn stared down at her, her worries about their future began to dissolve. She only had one thing on her mind, and she achieved it when in two swift steps her lips connected with Rachel's for the first time in two months. Screw the promise she had made to herself to wait until Rachel was ready to be intimate, _this_ was her wife and she will damn well kiss her if she wanted to. Rachel's lips tasted like the finest powdered sugar, they were also unbelievably soft, just like tulip petals in spring. The feeling that was stirring inside of her was like nothing she had ever known. It was as though her soul had been asleep for hundreds of years and was now slowly waking to a world that was made entirely out of sunlight.

With every ounce of her energy, Quinn pulled herself away from the kiss. "I'm sorry. I just—I've missed you."

Rachel's expression was neither angry nor fearful. "I—I'm—Okay."

"You're okay?"

"I meant—Okay." She sighed.

"Okay." Quinn echoed.

Rachel cleared her throat but didn't withdraw away from Quinn. "I wish to stay here for the time being,"

"Of course,"

"And you? Will you be here too?"

"Home is wherever I'm with you." Quinn's stomach tied up in hundreds of knots as she said those words.

"Edward Sharpe."

"Yes."

She replied softly. "Did I sing that to you?"

Quinn smiled brightly. "Not exactly. You did write me a few notes with those lyrics."

She saw Rachel compose herself and noticed the way her eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed pink. "Just give me a few weeks and when I'm comfortable enough I'll go back to New York. To... _our_ apartment."

Rachel squeezed her hand and left it in her grip for a minute or two. Quinn thought _progress_ was a wonderful word. Possibly the best word in the dictionary.

•••

**September 8th, 2011**

Quinn felt strange but strong when she strode into school on that first day of a new semester. It was a late summer day and everything was in bloom, giving off a perfusion of musky perfumes and a sense that the air was beginning to become heavy, as if preparing for the long, cold months ahead. It was the kind of day in which she had always felt as light as air. She was surrounded the instant she stepped into the halls of William McKinley. Everyone was there, the whole crowd she hadn't seen since late May, plus four or five hanger-ons who hoped to gain popularity by association. One by one she accepted the welcoming glances from her peers, none of whom she cared enough to stop and talk to.

She saw Santana and Brittany approaching her from the distance in their Cheerios uniform. Santana seemed to have grown at least an inch from the last time Quinn had seen her—which was only a week ago—and more like a _Vogue_ model than ever. She greeted Quinn with a cold wave and stepped back when she realized she was standing a little too close, her brown eyes narrowed like a cat's. The hug she received from Brittany was warm and welcoming.

"Hi, Quinn. How have you been?"

Quinn didn't have time to answer when a camera appeared in her face and the voice of none other than Jacob Ben Israel roared through her ear drums. "Here we have the Three Musketeers. Or should I say the Unholy Trinity?"

"I like the Three Musketeers better," Brittany chimed, interrupting whatever he was going to say next. "Unholy Trinity makes us seem so unholy. We're not unholy are we, San?"

Jacob had his microphone in front of Santana's face and the girl slapped his hand away. "No, B, we're not unholy. Jewfro here needs to get his camera and that disgusting nest he calls his hair out of my way or so help him—"

"I see the holidays have done nothing to replenish Santana Lopez and her mouth of insults," he turned to Quinn, holding the microphone to his mouth. "It seems Quinn Fabray isn't going to be part of the Cheerios this year. To my readers who stalk my blog, my predictions are once again correct."

"Quinn can come back if she wants to," Brittany informed him triumphantly. "Coach Sylvester wants her to come back. She told me herself but she doesn't want to say it to Quinn's face. Something about her pride being hurt when she left."

"When did she say this?" Jacob asked, the microphone now in front of Brittany.

"At practice two days ago. I gave her a shoulder massage 'cause she was tensed and she blurted it out because I gave such great massages. But she told me not to tell anyone." Her eyes widened when she realized it wasn't just Jacob she had said this to, but possibly the whole school.

Jacob grabbed the camera and pulled it in front of him. "The first big gossip of McKinley for two-thousand and eleven. You heard it here first, eager bloggers! Sue Sylvester wants Quinn Fabray back on..."

Quinn followed Jacob's gaze as it landed on a petite brunette wearing black low-cut Mary Jane's with one strap across the instep, white stockings, a grey and pink patterned argyle skirt with a creamy long sleeve cotton shirt. She looked like a rainbow, and this coming from the girl who color co-ordinates her wardrobe but can't seem to color co-ordinate her clothing. Not to mention, it was summer.

"...the Cheerios." He finished quickly and pushed passed the camera man to stand beside Rachel's locker.

Quinn guessed that he was trying to be seductive with the wicked smile that showed his uneven teeth, but judging by the disgust on Rachel's face, he failed to achieve it.

"I trust that your summer has been well, Jacob?" It never seized to amaze Quinn how polite Rachel was to everyone, even to those she didn't like. It made her wonder whether Rachel was only nice to her out of courtesy.

"Very well indeed, Rachel. You left me waiting at our park two days ago. I think you owe me,"

Rachel gasped. "It is _not_ our park. And I did not agree to meet you."

"Yes, you did. You said if I helped you figure who this person on tumblr was—"

Rachel's eyes shot to Quinn from across the lockers. There was a worry so all-encompassing that filled those brown eyes Quinn missed the last words that came out of Jacob's mouth. Rachel broke their potent stare and chewed on her bottom lip while looking into the camera, Jacob was eagerly waiting her reply.

"I want you to sit with me at lunch," he said.

"I will be in the auditorium at lunch time. If you wish to join me, you may,"

"No," he protested. "In the cafeteria."

"I have already planned out my events for the remainder of the day and my schedule is filled with a list of things I must do. I may book you in for tomorrow evening."

Quinn chuckled at the way Rachel took out her daily planner and was waiting for him to reply to her statement, but she was shocked by the hostility Rachel showed towards Jacob; since when did Rachel Berry ever want to be alone with him? He had been trying to get into her pants since Freshmen year, why would she all of a sudden want to interact with him at a crucial moment in her life? She was graduating in a few months, possibly going to one of the best colleges in the country, she didn't need someone like him to bring her down. And yet she wanted to be alone with Jacob? Something was definitely suspicious.

Santana's hushed tone in her ear startled her. "You need to get your lemon pressed, Quinn. Your gay is showing."

She took a moment to straighten herself and took a breath, relief sweeping through her like sunlight. It was a beautiful day, full of promise, and nothing was going to ruin it for her. Not even Santana and her snide remarks about basically anything.

She calmly closed her locker and flashed Santana a wide grin, who almost fell as she stumbled back; if it weren't for Brittany who caught her. "I'm going to class. See you guys later."

There was no escaping the stereotypical bitchy cheerleader that Santana Lopez was. "What, no comeback? That's all you've got for me? You're making this too easy, Q. You're not even denying it anymore."

"What's the point?" She said as she walked to AP History. A quick glance behind and she saw that she was now alone with Santana. Brittany must have gone in the opposite direction. "I come up with a comeback and you're just going to sarcastically come up with something in return," she halted suddenly right in front of a classroom. The students wiggled their way around the two girls in order to step in. "I would rather save my breath to talk to someone worthwhile."

She covered her mouth with her hand, a cough that sounded like, "Berry."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You're not going to ruin this day for me, Santana."

"What's so special about today?" Santana asked curiously. "Don't tell me..." She crossed her arms and leaned against the door-frame. "You didn't."

Quinn raised an eyebrow in question. Santana continued, "You did the dirty with Berry, didn't you? That's why you're not uptight, bitchy and yelling at everyone anymore."

Quinn was taken aback. She and Santana had been friends since kindergarten, and they always had competed with each other good-naturedly. But lately Santana had begun to take the rivalry more and more seriously. Quinn was surprised at the bitterness in the other girl's voice.

"I think _you_ want to do the dirty with Berry, Santana," she said lightly.

"Oh, 'cause she's so attractive I want to bang her." She turned to face Quinn fully. Two boys smiled uneasily at them and edged away.

"How do you know she stares at me unless you're staring at her too? And why the sudden curiosity with my love life? Why the sudden shock that we slept together? Are you jealous?"

Santana flushed; Quinn could see it. She struggled to keep her voice steady. "Jealous? Get real, Blondie! Berry would only drag down my reputation. Besides, I'm too smokin' hot for her. If anything, she's the one who would want to sleep with me."

The bell rang overhead and the chatter of the students in the hallway slowly subsided. Quinn and Santana were locked in a battle to see who would be the first to retrieve from the door-frame. It was Rachel's voice that interrupted their staring contest.

"Hello, may I get inside?"

"Walk around, Berry!" Santana snapped, frustrated. "We're having a conversation,"

"A conversation consists of words being spoken. All I see is the two of you staring at one another,"

"What are you, the conversation police?" Santana twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. "We're having a conversation with our eyes."

"How is that classified as a conversation?" Rachel argued. "That's known as a staring contest."

Santana huffed. "It's a staring contest then!"

"Oh, why didn't you just say so?" Santana opened her mouth but Rachel didn't let her get a word in. "You know, Santana, I much like you better when you've had alcohol in you. You're a rather nicer person. Perhaps you could show up to glee this afternoon under the influence?"

Santana's usually plain face, brightened. "Are you, the ethical Rachel Berry, suggesting that I show up to glee drunk?"

"Not drunk. Tipsy," she corrected. "It would certainly make my afternoon pleasant and I'm sure the other glee kids will agree."

Santana's dark eyes barely flickered toward Quinn. "Berry, I just might. Because _I_ like you better when I'm drunk." She threw a grin over her shoulder when she sauntered away from them.

They simultaneously stepped into the doorway and Quinn's arm brushed against Rachel's, a nerve prickled along the back of her neck. They both jerked back and when she turned, Rachel's gaze was fixed on her like never before, the look in her eyes confused her. But the next moment, Rachel's face hardened, closing her out. Just as quickly, Rachel bent down to fix the strap on her shoes. Quinn watched as her sweater slightly lifted to review the supple brown curve of her waist, her back... She turned away and found a seat at the back of the classroom. She watched Rachel take a seat at the front. She was glad that her view of Rachel was obstructed by a scruffy headed boy whom she didn't recognize.

The teacher entered the classroom and began pacing around like a ferret, asking questions. Quinn didn't listen too much of what he was saying, her mind drifted dreamily back to the previous day when she had first spoken to her online friend Rachel on the phone. Her voice was possibly the sweetest thing she had ever heard in her life, her laughter was contagious and heart-warming. They spoke about their favorite things: movies, songs, bands, tv shows. They told each other stories about their childhood, snippets of their lives. Quinn had never been much of a talker—but with Rachel, she was extremely nervous and that apparently made her very chatty.

Her attempt at trying to find Rachel on Facebook failed miserably, there was no Rachel Heroy, and when she mentioned this to Rachel, the girl had giggled and said she didn't have a Facebook account so Quinn just had to be patient and wait until they saw each other. The conversation lasted deep into the night and they both fell asleep on the phone. When she woke this morning, Rachel had sent her a text, **I think the network connection must have been bad therefore the call ended. Unless you hung up on me? :-( Have a great first day at school, Quinn. I'll talk to you tonight? xo**

Something had caught in her throat as she read the text, something so alien it took her a moment to recognise it as happiness. **I would never hang up on you**. She had typed. **Even the network wants to keep us apart! Haha. Yes, I can't wait to speak to you again soon. **

The cool breeze that blew up her dress that morning on her way to school and a few teenagers who drove by and laughed, did not register with her. When she stepped into a tiny puddle of mud and it ruined her new pair of shoes, it did nothing to distress her. Even Santana's bitchy, hellion attitude, did nothing to swipe the delighted look across her face. Quinn wondered, surely it couldn't be right to show this much happiness.

She wasn't sure how long she had been daydreaming for—or where she was staring at, even _who—_but she noticed Rachel turn, her eyes flickered towards Quinn with a despairing hunger, and a sickening surge of memory flooded through her mind: all those times she had provoked Rachel Berry, bullied her for no reason at all (besides the fact that she was jealous of Rachel's talent and her ability to get out of Lima), and her nasty name calling and pornographic pictures. Everything faded in her hazel eyes and turned into _her_ Rachel. If Rachel found out her past, what she was capable of or the way she treated other people, the girl possibly wouldn't want anything to do with her. She had to make this right, and fix all the wrongs she had done.

So when glee rolled around at 4 p.m. that afternoon, she told herself that she will fix her mistakes the moment glee was over. She had attempted to do it during the day but she wasn't able to find Rachel Berry anywhere, also the fact that she was still in a mild daydream and her only thoughts consisted of _her_ Rachel.

Her opportunity to fix her wrongs came quicker than she had thought when Rachel stepped out of the bathroom and was making her way in the opposite direction of the choir room.

"Berry, where are you going?" She shouted when the girl hadn't noticed her.

Rachel stopped in her tracks and turned to see Quinn running towards her. "Hello, Quinn. Shouldn't you be in glee?"

"Shouldn't _you_?" She checked her watch. "You're ten minutes late,"

"So are you."

"Yes, but you're _never_ late," she defended. "What's up, Berry?"

"Nothing is up, Quinn. I have other matters to attend to." She clutched her books closer to her chest.

Quinn wasn't letting this go. "Like what?"

"Why are you so interested?"

Quinn shrugged as if it were nothing. "Just wondering,"

Rachel glanced around the empty hallway, nervously. "I have to get going."

Quinn grabbed her arm with surprising agility. "What's wrong?"

"Quinn, please get to glee. I will see you there in a bit."

She sucked in a deep breath. It was now or never. "Listen, _Rachel_. I know we've had our differences, and I haven't exactly been the nicest person to you all these years, but if you're in trouble I want to help you."

"Why?" Confusion was evident on her face.

"Because I'm sorry for everything I've done to you," Quinn slid her hand slowly up along Rachel's shivering arm and stepped closer. "I'm _really_ sorry for everything."

"Thank you," Rachel said gently. "I forgive you."

Quinn sighed in relief. However, not bothering to question about the easy way Rachel had forgiven her. "So will you tell me what's up? I want to help you. I know it won't make up for all the horrible things I've done to you, but it's a start and it'll definitely make me feel better."

Rachel dropped her books to her side and turned to walk towards the auditorium. Quinn followed close to her side. "I'm meeting Jacob,"

"Jacob who?"

"Jacob Ben Israel."

"Jewfro?" Quinn halted and so did Rachel. "Oh my God, are you... dating him—"

"What? No!" She said quickly. "I—owe him."

"For what?"

Rachel resumed walking, Quinn fell into step beside her. The sound of Rachel's footfalls matching the click of her heels in a nice rhythm. "I needed his help on a little project, and in return I promised to repay him with whatever he wished."

Quinn raised her all-famous questioning eyebrow. "You didn't stop to think that maybe he would want you to repay him with kissing? Or sex? Or worse—what's worse than sex with Jewfro?"

"Quinn!" Rachel gasped. "Don't make jokes! I wasn't thinking clearly,"

"This project must have been important,"

"Yes, quite," Rachel peeked her head through the auditorium, then she turned back to Quinn with her bottom lip between her teeth. "I have managed to escape him thus far. But now that we're back at school, I fear he will not leave me alone until I do this for him."

"Alright," Quinn straightened and pushed the shorter girl away from the large doors. "Forget this, Rach. You don't need to do what he tells you to. You have me, and eleven other people who will protect you from Jewfro."

"But—"

Quinn dragged her away from the auditorium and they both made their way towards the choir room. "No, buts, Rach. You do this for him today, and he's just going to tell you to do something else until he has you right where he wants you—" Quinn clenched her fist in the air. "—His bitch, and you're no one's bitch. People like him will be working for you when you're a superstar."

Rachel smiled; a swift, brilliant smile. "I like this new you. May I ask what the reason behind this sudden change is?"

Quinn mimicked her bright smile, her heart stilled at the reason behind her change. "Can I tell you something?"

"Certainly."

"I met someone,"

"Would you tell me who if I were to ask?"

"Ask me again in a week and I probably will."

Quinn twisted the knob to the choir room but waited for a response from Rachel before she opened the door. "They must be very special to you,"

"Yeah. I want to be a better person. Someone they can be proud of and not have to fear."

Rachel nodded and looked at her. Flickers of unknown expressions crossed her eyes. "They are, Quinn. I know they are proud of you."

•••

**September 15th, 2011**

The music faded into a low melody that slipped coolly through the torpid of Quinn's bedroom, she heard it echo through the phone into Rachel's room. The last words of _Parachute's She is Love_ freshened the damp, congealed air.

"What song do you want me to play now?" There was silence and heavy breathing on Rachel's end of the phone. Quinn said, "Rach? Are you asleep?"

"No, I was just mesmerized by the song."

Quinn smiled to herself in the darkness. "It stopped playing two minutes ago." Quinn let her iTunes choose the next song, and let the music ease its way into her conversation with Rachel.

"I was just fantasizing when this song should be played at our wedding,"

Quinn was breathing quickly again, and she felt her heart beat step up. "Wedding?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like to pick the song?"

She could feel her pulse everywhere now; in her wrists and the inside of her elbows—and in her throat. "No, I like that song. I guess it's our song then."

Quinn lay on her left side, holding the phone to her right ear, whilst Rachel lay on her right side, holding the phone to her left ear—they were asymmetric images of one another. She thought of Rachel's soft blazing body through her night gown, hair a true auburn in the sun. Knotted muscles flowing like warm honey. A soft face, easy to look at, yet one that you would never forget. Cloud-colored eyes, gentle lips. Warm hands that gripped the phone, gracious when typing. They were pleasant to touch—a sort of serene feeling.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"I can't wait to see you tomorrow,"

"Me too, Rach."

Time passed, and gradually their breathing began to coincide with each other. Deep breaths, relaxed breaths and there was a moment when she dozed off, but was conscious of Rachel's soft mumblings flowing through the phone. They had discussed their arrangement to meet one another at the end of the school week, Quinn and Rachel were to wear certain colors so they would be able to recognize one another, although, Rachel did add: _you will recognize me as soon as you see me_. Quinn hadn't thought too much of it, just that Rachel was most likely being romantic.

Since that moment, she lacked concentration in school. She lacked concentration when she was at home. Sometimes she'd find herself staring off into the distance, thinking of God knows what, but the _who_ she was thinking about was always Rachel. Rachel occupied her mind the moment she woke up, she was the last thought before Quinn went to sleep. Sanctuary, Quinn had thought one day. Rachel was sanctuary.

The next day, when it seemed to bright and glaring to believe that the previous night had happened at all, she sent Rachel a quick good morning text and began her morning ritual of washing and dressing, and she dawdled over it, sorting through her outfits. When she walked downstairs half an hour later, the sun was shining through the tall windows, the smell of coffee permeated the room, her mother waved to her from the kitchen table and Elvis Costello was singing _The Angels Wanna Wear My Red Shoes_ on the CD player. She poured herself a cup of coffee and pulled out a chair.

"Busy day, Quinn?" Judy asked, skeptical of the expression on her daughter's face.

"Yeah, I'm going to meet someone in about—" She glanced at the clock on the wall. "—Three and a half hours."

Judy placed Quinn's breakfast in front of her daughter and pulled out a chair for herself. "Who is this person?"

"Just a friend." She didn't look up from her breakfast. Did love really make the whole world a brighter, happier place?

"Will I get to meet them?"

"Maybe, mom,"

"Quinn, don't talk with your mouth full."

She quickly swallowed and took a sip of her coffee. "Sorry, I'm really hungry."

The hand that held her coffee froze mid-way in the air when Judy placed a hand on top of her daughter's. "I'm so glad you're happy. Are you happy? You look very happy these days."

"I'm very happy, mom. Thanks." Quinn said and they began to discuss about school, plans for the next few weeks ahead and any other safe topics for the rest of the meal.

When they were finished, Quinn helped Judy with the dishes while she got ready for work. She kissed her daughter good bye, adding a quick, Don't be out too late, before closing the door behind her. Time seemed to have ticked by slower than usual. She occupied herself with television, movies, reading, but every time she glanced at the clock, only a minute would pass since the last time she had checked. Rachel texted her during the day saying that she couldn't wait to meet Quinn and warned her to not reply as their time apart will make the evening suspenseful.

An hour and a half before the extreme leap in their relationship, Quinn unclipped the black skirt from the hanger and stepped into it, and sucked in her stomach to get it buttoned. Then she shrugged on the lavender chiffon blouse and buttoned the tiny buttons. She had just slipped her feet into pointy-toed silver shoes when there was chime on her phone. It was a text from Rachel, **Just left the house :-)**

A wave of nausea hit her. She felt like she'd just had the breath knocked out of her, and she couldn't quite tell which way was up or down anymore. Everything was sparkly and dark, the way it does sometimes when you stand up too quick. She clutched her phone more tightly, her palm was sweaty and shaking. This was going to happen within the next half an hour. She was going to meet Rachel. The girl she met over tumblr, the girl she had been talking to for a little under a month, the girl she couldn't stop thinking about.

Then, as swiftly as it had descended, the feeling passed. Sucking a deep breath, she looked around, trying to orient herself. **I'm on my way, **she replied.

She started walking—yes, _walking_, because Rachel had lectured her on the importance of physical exercise, and without the Cheerios to keep her in shape, she could really benefit from more physical activity—toward the movie theater, then passed the blinking lights of the marquee and kept walking. The sky overhead was not blue but milky and opaque, like a giant bowl turned upside down. The streets were packed with people doing their weekend shopping, taking their families for a nice stroll around town. A little wind made the leaves flutter, and Quinn took a deep breath. She seemed to be doing a lot of _that_ lately.

Almost there. Almost there, she said to herself. Her feet had begun to ache, but with every step, she felt it less, not more. Every second brought her closer to Rachel.

Within a few minutes she reached the riverbank. Instead of shops there were houses here, but not all that many. A sidewalk ran along the riverside, one that had been laid down a long time ago; the concrete squares had cracked, and weeds poked their way through the gaps. Here and there, tree roots had pushed the concrete slabs upward at odd angles, so it made for uncertain walking, especially in heels. She watched the sun reflecting on the water, light ripples moving east.

Then she heard footsteps in the sidewalk behind her. Her heart leapt and she spun around with a smile on her face to glimpse a shape coming closer.

All her hopes crushed.

"Hey," _Rachel Berry_ emerged from behind a tree.

Quinn's disappointment vanished, replaced by fear. "Uh... hey. What—what are you doing here?"

"I'm—" She started but stopped abruptly.

"What?"

"I'm—meeting—someone." Rachel said slowly. Almost with extreme difficulty.

Rachel looked like a fairy tale come to life, in her unusually non-argyle clothing. Her dark hair fell from an artfully messy knot into pearl strewn tendrils around her face and her neck rose gracefully above the perfect expanse of skin revealed by a very low, ivory and satin shirt. Rachel's eyes had been a color Quinn had never seen before; darker than wooden brown. Quinn let her mind wonder to their previous conversation when _her_ Rachel had specifically mentioned to her that she would be wearing an ivory and satin shirt, and a dark ocean blue rose, ribbon headband.

Quinn swallowed, and it was like the world flashed black, then light again. Neither one of them moved as they faced each other. Rachel hadn't said anything, her muscles seemed frozen and for a second Quinn thought Rachel was about to pass out. And then it was as if every foreboding and fear and nightmare she'd ever had were coming true all at once. It was beyond anything.

"Oh, God." Quinn whispered.

She went on whispering it, backing away, scarcely unaware of what she was doing. Her mind simply could not cope with this situation; her thoughts were running wild in panic, like mice trying to escape a cage. Her body was filled with unbearable tension, her heart was bursting, her head reeling.

"You—you're—it can't be."

"Quinn!" More terrible than anything was to see Rachel's smile changing into a look of shock and desperation. "Quinn, please. Please, don't..."

"You're Rachel... _My_ Rachel?"

When she was ready, Rachel took a deep breath and smiled. "Yes. I'm the Rachel you met on tumblr."

The comment startled her and she looked at the girl before her with amazement in her eyes. Rachel took three steps toward her and the infinity of terror inside of her told her that she was falling off a bridge, with nothing to hold onto. But the terrible, shattering impact never came. Suddenly there was a hand placed on each side of her arm, Quinn felt the warmth of Rachel radiating through her cardigan. Then all was still. Her mind, her body, her blood, her pulse: numb.

She held herself motionless within the circle of those hands, trying to get her bearings. Trying to believe yet another unbelievable thing. The girl she had fallen for was Rachel Berry, and yet, as much as the outcome had surprised her, she didn't deny the situation. They were standing in the middle of the riverbank, in the utter silence between voices of passer-bys, and the sound of the wind blowing the leaves in the summer season.

Slowly, she lowered her gaze to the face of the girl that held her attention unconditionally since that very first message on tumblr. There was such sadness in her eyes. Those eyes which burned at Puck's end of summer party, were now dark and empty, hopeless. For now there was self-hatred mixed with sorrow, and bitter condemnation. Quinn couldn't bear it.

"Rachel," she whispered, feeling that sadness enter her own soul. "Why didn't you tell me from the beginning?"

There was no answer in those bleak, lost eyes. "I wanted to the moment I knew it was you. But I couldn't bear it if I ever lost you because you found out it was _me_." Rachel could barely force out the next few words. "I know that I've lied to you these past few weeks. But I meant everything I said about my feelings for you, everything was the absolute truth. I had fallen in love with you before I knew it was you... and by then it was too late for me to stop."

The silence that followed was absolute, like the silence after the world's end.

* * *

><p><strong>I've realized, while writing this chapter, that I have completely missed the point of this story. It's supposed to be about Rachel and Quinn trying to cope with Rachel's memory loss and somehow it's ended up being about how they met. This story will focus on that, I just never realized it was going to take this long! So if you're all a little confused, I will get to that within the next chapter or so. All this has a point to the story, but it will progress rather slowly.<strong>

**Again, thanks for all the reviews :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**There is Finchel in this chapter. You have been warned. Again, thank you for all the reviews.**

* * *

><p><em>I've been beaten down, I've been kicked around<br>But she takes it all for me  
>And I lost my faith in my darkest days<br>But she makes me want to believe  
>They call her love, love, love, love, love<br>She is love  
>And she is all I need<em>

—Parachute: She Is Love

•••

**September 15th, 2011**

"Kurt, I'm in love with Quinn."

Rachel paused her movements and stared at the bulletin board in front of her. Her back was towards her friend, and there was a delay in his response. Perhaps he hadn't heard her over the racket from the television?

"I'm in love with Quinn."

Kurt hadn't turned off the television, nor did he make any audible sounds to signify that he had heard her. She tried one last time,

"I'm in love with Quinn Fabray."

He must have heard her that time? Yes, she was certain of it.

Still, instead of an audible sound she recognized as Kurt's, she heard the resonated blaring from the television.

Frustrated with her friend's lack of response—and that roaring, piercing sound from the television that had covered her perfect voice as she mustered all her courage to finally tell him her deepest, darkest secret—she threw her pen angrily onto the table, swiveled around in her chair to face him, only to find him staring wide-eyed and mouth agape at her. She could see smudges of saliva dripping from the side of his mouth. He must have forgotten how to swallow.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She recoiled and fidgeted in her seat, glancing at the clock above the door. Three and a half more hours to go.

The last time she had seen that expression on Kurt's face was, well, never. This look was much worse than the time he discovered she had several more animal sweaters hidden at the back of her closet, along with her rainbow collection of Mary Janes. His acknowledgement of such absurdity came right out of a _Friends_ line the moment he opened her closet: _Oh! My eyes, my eyes!_

Minutes ticked by without so much a movement from him. What worried her was the fact that he hadn't blinked for a long period of time and the trepidation that her friend's eyes were becoming susceptible to infection and damage were heightening. Rachel pushed her chair forward until her knees touched the edge of the bed and reached for the remote control to turn off the television. When the silence of the room filled her ears, she waved a hand in front of Kurt's face and sighed in relief when he blinked several times to put the moisture back into his dry eyes, and then locked onto her chocolate ones.

She gave a small smile and steadily placed both her hands on top of his. "I have to tell you something. Before I begin, I want you to know that this is extremely difficult for me. Needless to say, I'm uncertain how or when this happened. Actually, I'm quite accurate as to how this happened, nevertheless, still uncertain of the moment it happened. Therefore, I cannot correctly justify that. In a few weeks I may be able to clarify that to you after I've analyzed and over-analyzed this further, but for the time being I'm still wavering the situation. However, I do know how it happened, and I fully intend to explain—"

"You're in love with Quinn." His voice was croaky and a little higher pitched than usual. He closed his mouth and swallowed several times before repeating that statement. "You're in love with Quinn. Ex-cheerleader Quinn Fabray?"

"So you did hear me," she said softly.

"How could I not, Rachel? You said it three times so loud the neighbors might have even heard you,"

"You didn't say anything!" She crossed her arms and pouted. "You could have said something!"

"I was in shock," he protested. "Couldn't you tell by my expression?"

"That was shock?" She was slightly perplexed. In her sixteen years of existence and extensive knowledge of facial expressions due to her ability to master every one of them for her Broadway career, she had not witnessed _that_ before. A first time for everything.

Kurt shuffled closer toward his friend, who was clearly in a world of her own again and he bought her back to reality. "How? When? Why? I didn't even know you two were friends."

Thus began her thorough, all-encompassing tale of how she fell in love with her nemesis Quinn Fabray just before the start of senior year. Anonymously at first, of course, because _clickhereforquinn_ did not register with her that this person was _the_ Quinn Fabray. There were a lot of pictures of Lea Michele and Dianna Agron on the girl's blog, so many that if looked at for the first time it was clear this girl was attracted to women even if she didn't state so. Sure, there were moments when Quinn had posted pictures of male movie stars and other films, but ninety times out of a hundred, it was the two women Quinn posted about. It was certainly a coincidence that she had stumbled across Quinn's tumblr and began to follow her.

On the momentous day she had uncovered the mysterious person behind _clickhereforquinn_, her heart had felt like a drumbeat beneath her skin. At that moment she could have taken off running for Mount Everest and been there in minutes—no, seconds—but she had fallen, and she wanted Quinn _that_ badly. However, the tie between them was fragile; they were connected only by wires linked to a circuit board and an unspoken promise to meet. That was all Rachel could have, because the moment Quinn was to find out the mysterious person was her, Quinn wasn't going to stay. Especially not for her.

Even being connected through the circuit board seemed miraculous now, as she spoke of how she fell in love. Quinn had professed her love to her within days of talking, and that alone gave Rachel the tiniest bit of hope, escalating into a huge amount of faith.

After the rush of exhilaration had passed, Kurt spoke, "You have a tumblr and you're not following me?"

Rachel's mouth twisted into a scowl. "Kurt, please stay on topic."

"Right," he crossed his legs and straightened himself on the bed. "This is the best piece of news I've heard all my life. Who would have known? Quinn Fabray, gay?"

"She's not—I mean, I don't think she likes labels."

"Sshh," Kurt waved his hand in the air to silence her. "I should have known! All the amounts of girls she posts on her blog, why did I not see this coming?"

They sat on her enormous, very pink, comfortable bed covered with an extremely soft comforter. Now that she had said those words out loud to another human, she was at a loss to begin. She had so many thoughts running through her head, but now she couldn't think of one. She could feel Kurt's contemptuous gaze, but she was tired of the incoherent thoughts running through her mind. She wanted it to stop just for a second, so she could bathe in the relaxed luxury of it.

To get Rachel's attention once more, Kurt asked, "When are you going to meet up with her?"

"In three and a half hours."

"Today? And you tell me this now?"

"Is this really necessary?" She said, bringing them back to topic once more.

Kurt gave an apologetic smile. Rachel was surprised that he was being extremely submissiveness today. "Have you thought about just telling her the truth?" He stroked down a wrinkle on her comforter with his well-manicured hand.

He gazed at her curiously and she wondered if he'd been able to sense her distress. She stared out the window, unwilling to acknowledge to him what she wasn't ready to admit to herself. How well did she and Quinn know each other, really? They had hardly ever spoken outside of glee club and when they did it mostly involved a quarrel and vicious words, mainly on Quinn's behalf. She didn't know Quinn as an individual, just through earfuls of whispered rumors around the school. The first time she remembered meeting Quinn was in Freshmen year, but that first slushie Quinn threw at her reminded her of how different they were.

Then she remembered the first night she spoke to Quinn on the phone. She had successfully managed to conceal her real voice and the other girl was unable to recognize her. Quinn told stories of how alone she felt during her childhood, that the only time things were good for her were the times she spent with her grandfather before he passed away. She remembered Quinn's ramblings when she was nervous. Rachel had always had discussions prepared for every occasion, whether awkward or dexterous. But it was Quinn who had spoken the most that night, while all Rachel did was listen to the sweet sound of her voice, the way she giggled and trembled.

This wasn't infatuation. This was love. If she knew nothing else, she knew that for sure.

Kurt sat closer to her when he didn't get an answer, an arm across the back of the chair. "She'll forgive you." She liked hearing those words, though it made her nervous. Kurt seemed to know exactly the effect the sentence had on her. "She will, Rachel. If I know Quinn Fabray, and I'm sure I know her pretty well, she would never say something like that unless it was the honest truth."

"She told Finn she loved him."

"So?"

"I don't know, she loved him too."

"_Loved_." Kurt emphasized. "And so did you. So tell me, what's the difference?" The boy had an impish quality up close. Rachel was afraid he was going to bring that up, but here he was, waiting for her to articulate further.

That was when her heart began pounding in earnest. "The way I feel for Quinn is unlike anything I've ever felt. Finn was a childish love, the kind of love you grasp onto because that person is giving you attention and declaring all these sweet things you've never heard before." Those words reverberated in her throat and her fingertips. "I felt the connection the moment I sent her that message on tumblr and I couldn't not talk to her. It felt equivalent to finishing a puzzle but that _one, tiny piece_ is missing and it's agonizing staring at the empty space. When Quinn came along it gave me a sense of completion. When I stare at the puzzle from a distance, I think, finally, where have you been all this time?"

Kurt looked at her up close, probably examining the planes of her face, Rachel thought. He picked up her hand and held it in his. His hands were more delicate than she had thought, a bit larger than hers, warm and surprisingly soft, but a bit rough. "If she loves you, this won't matter, Rach. At first, she will be surprised of course, but I think once she has time to process everything she will come to her senses and realize how could it not be you? I mean, how differently did you act towards her?"

"Not so much," Rachel answered honestly. "I only lied about my last name and which school I went to. I told her the truth about my dreams and passions, what I did each day, my likes and dislikes."

"She will understand, but she will need time to process the information."

"What if I lose her?"

His lips parted in a quick breath and he looked away. "I'll be here for you. We've had our differences and what-not, but we're friends. And that speech you just gave—" He said, and almost speaking to himself, he continued. "I know the feeling, sister. It's almost like a dizziness or a weakness takes hold of you, and you can't control it. You succumb to it, you continue to fall because it's harder to stop than to not fall at all."

Rachel laughed, drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them, gazing at Kurt in a way she could have bottled and stored like a great wine. At the end of the bed, the boy sighed, unfolding his legs and smiled nostalgically.

It wasn't exactly happiness that she felt as Kurt helped—no, hindered—her choices of the perfect outfit for the evening and selected one for her himself without her assistance. He ridiculed her wardrobe and made a mental note to take her shopping to purchase improved, sophisticated clothing which will impress Quinn in the near future. There was still sadness lodged deep within her, still shame, and a humbling, keen emotion that Rachel imagined might have been regret about the way she handled things with Quinn. She did not feel happy, exactly. But she did feel a lightness, was glad that she had finally had the courage to open up to her friend, she was glad he did not judge her in the slightest, didn't ask about her sexuality. She was glad for his understanding.

The period after twelve noon was her favorite part of the day; it looked as though the sun was setting. She sent out a text to Quinn as soon as she closed her front door: **Just left the house :-)**. The sky was a milky blue-grey as she walked to the far end of the grounds and made her way towards the riverbank to meet Quinn. Her ears prickled up in response to the sounds and voices around her, the clicking of her heels on the concrete, the loud beating of her heart in her chest.

Quinn replied moments later, **I'm on my way**. She continued on her walking, realizing as she went how much she wanted to run back into the confines of her bedroom and hide away forever, perhaps she and Quinn could have a relationship where they wouldn't have to meet. Ever. She found herself wondering if this was all they would have: a deceptive meeting, weeks of divulged letters, written moments of passion amid weeks and weeks of blessedness.

Rachel shook her head, refusing to get ahead of herself. Instead, she kept going until she reached the road, then it was a short stroll to the lone intersection in the area, a four-way stop. She took her place on the road that led to the riverbank and inhaled a deep breath at the sight of Quinn. It wasn't that she looked so dissimilar from the Quinn she had seen in school, but the way Quinn stood in the middle of the crowded riverbank, was as brilliant as a bonfire. At that moment she felt too happy to worry about anything—the lies she had told, Quinn's reaction to seeing her, or consequences that might follow. All that mattered was that Quinn was right in front of her as beautiful as ever.

Now, here they were. Rachel had spoken passionately, carefully choosing her words about her feelings for Quinn. They were as true as her dreams of New York and Broadway.

"Rachel Heroy? Where did you get _that _from?" Quinn asked.

Rachel wasn't quite expecting that question. Especially after she had poured her heart and soul into possibly the best speech of her existence. "It's a portmanteau of my fathers' names, Hiram and Leory. Heroy. Some may argue it's a neologism, I however, prefer portmanteau."

"Cute." She said flatly.

"It was all I could come up with at such short notice."

Quinn stared at her for a few heartbeats and then spoke in the same flat manner. "When did you know it was me?"

"The email you sent me stating that you live in Lima and you go to Mckinley," she said simply. The way she saw Quinn slouch slightly, Rachel knew she was thinking that should have been obvious. Rachel continued, "I asked Jacob to investigate further for me so I could be sure."

"Which is why now you owe him because this was the important project you gave him," Quinn finished. "Which is also why you've been staring at me oddly every time I've seen you."

"I wouldn't call it odd," Rachel corrected. "I'd say it was quaint, as I didn't realize there was another more positive and affectionate side to you."

Quinn raised her eye-brow and Rachel braced herself for a remark. "You do know that you're talking to me and not Finn, right? You basically rephrased my statement so that it would sound smart."

"Even so," Rachel argued. "My quaint glances at you—"

"They were not glances, or glimpses or brief looks, or whatever other synonyms you have. You were _staring_."

"Quinn, must be discuss this? It's not import—"

"Yes, it is!" Quinn's hands clenched violently, reflexively and she jerked out of Rachel's reach. "You lied to me! You knew for weeks who I was and you never told me. I basically made a fool out of myself."

"No, you didn't," Rachel said softly. "I'm sorry, Quinn. Please believe me. I wanted to tell you but I was scared you might not understand."

"Might not understand?" Quinn repeated angrily. "You're really going to use that line on me?"

Rachel felt her flesh creep at those words. "I don't know what you want me to say," she said shakily. She remembered the Quinn she met online, the girl who occupied her thoughts every day and night, and she forced herself not to recoil at the sight of _this_ Quinn. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm not very proud at the way I handled the situation, but I was scared. I didn't want to lose you."

Quinn ignored her protestations, just went on staring through her, into some incomprehensible distance. "Meeting like this never crossed your mind that you would lose me anyway?"

Rachel wouldn't let the tears fall from her eyes, she wouldn't cry now. She caught her breath hoping to stop the sob that seemed impossible to ignore. She stood still, her emotions filled with sorrow and dread. But she did not run; she refused to run away from Quinn. "It did, but I was hoping we could discuss this in further detail and you can understand why I did what I did."

Quinn faltered and gave a short, humorless laugh. "Whatever explanations you have won't make me understand,"

"You're not giving me a chance."

"How can I? You lied to me!"

"Is that all there is?" Rachel was breathing rapidly but shallowly. "Is this really all because I lied to you and not because you found out it was _me_?"

There was a chill running through her body watching Quinn stare at her. Quinn's face softened, only slightly. Rachel's skin rose in goose-flesh and she tried to speak but couldn't. She noticed Quinn's jaw clenching and then opened and closed a few times but she couldn't speak either. It was like the silence had answered her question. The chill she had felt turned into ice in her chest and flooded out through her body and trapped her.

"That was what I was afraid of." Rachel managed to get out, and the tears fell from her eyes, small droplets that dripped down her chin.

Rachel felt her hand taken, and when she looked she saw Quinn's fingers closed around it, giving her warmth and a little strength. Their eyes locked onto each other. "Rach, it's not that," she whispered. "But I can't do this." Rachel's fingers were numb within her grasp, and Quinn tried to tighten them to send her reassurance. She had no trouble speaking now, she seemed to have forgotten Rachel's presence. "I just—can't. I'm sorry. It's never going to work out."

Quinn could feel the tremors in Rachel's body, communicating to her through her tightly gripped fingers. It took Rachel a moment to find her voice. "How do you know that? We haven't tried,"

"I know," she said sternly. "I just know. It'll never work out. You and I? It's a disaster waiting to happen."

"Did all of those weeks of talking mean nothing to you? You were so keen on trying to figure out a way to make this work," Rachel said, almost pleading. Quinn held her, stroking her quivering shoulders. Passer-bys stared in wonder, and both girls ignored them. Neither wanted to move from their position to a disclosed area.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I know what I said and I'm sorry, but I can't."

"I deserve an explanation, Quinn." Rachel held tightly onto the front of Quinn's shirt, refusing to let go. If this was the last time she was going to be this close to the other girl, she was going to take advantage of this situation.

Quinn didn't answer her and began to murmur nonsense meant to soothe her, pushing away her anger and sadness. And, presently, Rachel quieted and lifted her head. "I deserve that much if you're not going to want to continue this beyond today."

"Rach, please don't.," Quinn tried to escape Rachel's grasp but the girl was surprisingly strong and refused to let her go. "I can't."

Rachel searched hazel eyes for any uncertainty, and then said, almost dreamily. "You can't leave it at that, Quinn. If you care about me at all, I need to know why."

Quinn leaned back away from her and shut her eyes. Her face was pinched with weary. "I'm going to hurt you." Then in a stronger voice, she said. "I'm only going to hurt you, Rach. You deserve so much better than me."

"You don't know that. You don't know what's going to happen," Rachel said forcefully. "We haven't given this a chance."

Quinn moved away from the shorter girl, they were a good foot or two apart. She didn't deserve to have Rachel in her arms. "I've tortured you for so long, why would you still want to be with me after everything?"

Those words filled Rachel with horror and pity... and fear too. She admitted that. But there was one thing she was sure about, all of Quinn's façades have no significance towards the way she felt. None of it mattered. "I don't care about that."

"I do!" She said bleakly. "The reason I was so willing to make this work before I knew it was you is because I could start over with someone new. They didn't know that side to me, the mean, bitchy side. All the horrible things I've done," she looked down directly at Rachel. "With you, I've done so many horrible things. You've witnessed it all because it was mostly targeted at you. I can't believe that it was _you_ all along. You were right in front of me!,I couldn't even see it! It had to take the internet to make me see you. _To actually see you_." She was breathing quickly again, staring down at Rachel's hands as if wanting to reach out. "You deserve someone who didn't put you through all that, someone so much better than me, Rachel."

•••

**January, 16th, 2016**

In the days that followed Rachel was reminded that her life in Lima was very small; that her memory had its limits and that five years is a long and weary stretch. What passed through the years is time, and all the bitterness between Quinn and herself. The warmth she remembered along the way is almost incidental. Her memories seemed bleached into stories which are bleached into myth and bleached of all color into ashes of myth. In other words, her life didn't seem real anymore. Nothing should come as a surprise yet everything is astonishing. When she would hear her fathers and Quinn talk about love and family and friends, all she can see are images lumped together to form something that isn't really there—at least not in her mind—and she cries, not so much for what might have been, but for what _had_ been. She had been happy, sad, angry, fearful, yet none of it mattered because all she felt was emptiness. These were all just empty recollections of memories through someone else's words. She was looking at her life and all she saw was a blank canvas waiting for paint to be smudged across it, it's telling the artist to paint me, I need something to make me feel whole.

She hadn't been alone with Quinn for days, sometimes Quinn would leave the house in the morning and come home hours later and although it made her wonder, she never asked where Quinn had been. She no longer worked, her father's had arranged a meeting with her manager and she was currently taking temporary leave. To say that she was astonished at the fan base created in her honor was an understatement. She had over one million followers on Twitter, each day they would send her pleasant messages, or asking her when she would return to Broadway, but understood her decision to take a leave of absence.

Sometimes she witnessed her fathers cry for the woman she had been, and a wrenching anguish tore at her heart, and at night she would begin to sob with that oxygen-depleted heaving felt in deep dreams. Late at night, funerals were all she dreamt about. Everyone was gathered around her coffin in that heady mixture of grief, her body had grew smaller—a situation she never thought was possible—a shrinkage that seemed to signal not just the bones becoming brittle, but the soul's attempt to condense those bones in preparation for an easier return to dust; the soul's attempt for discarding, in some bizarre physics brought on by death's approach. In the dream she began to cry, profusely, just as she would in reality. Her crying woke her up each night and seamlessly continued.

She would sob herself into calmness and a while later would fall back asleep. When she woke it was always just before dawn and a terrifying sense of insubstantiality consumed her; the absence of a warm body from her life. Her daily routine of a rigorous and exercise regime were stalled for the time being, instead she would snuggle into the sheets and look around the walls of her bedroom. They were simply white, too white. The pink, the posters, the color was all gone. Just like her memories.

Quinn came into her room this particular morning, Rachel sensed her coming before she opened her eyes. They were at peace with one another. But it was an uncomfortable peace, they were walking on egg shells, tip toeing around intimate topics. She herself deliberately avoided being alone with Quinn. In part she avoided it because everything was so provocatively dangerous and intense. Quinn's smile, her gentle eyes, her gentle attentions made her light-headed and girlish, an altogether astonishing sensation she had never expected to feel for this woman.

"Hey, I knocked but I guess you didn't hear me," Quinn said coming to a stop at the end of her bed. "Sorry to have just walked in."

It was that kind of peace that made her nervous. Quinn apologized for a lot of things, little things Rachel thought were unnecessary. "It's quite alright, Quinn, I've been awake for a while."

Quinn stood with her arms behind her back, her eyes glancing anywhere but at the girl in front of her. It hit Rachel then, like a punch in the stomach. They could go on for years like this and be awkward and nervous towards each other. Two people who were married but were at a loss for words on a daily basis, their hands slipping loose in a crowd. My Jewish Gods, she thought, how could I have avoided this all this time? Her throat felt like there were two hands wrapped around it, squeezing. She refused to let the water fall from her eyes.

Quinn sat on the bed the instant she saw Rachel's expression change, her arms wanting to reach out but she remained settled at the foot of the bed. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I was just... thinking,"

"About?"

"Jewish Gods." It wasn't exactly a lie, but she didn't feel the need to tell Quinn the truth.

Quinn smiled a little, her eyes were so sad and kind. "You're sad because you were thinking about Jewish Gods?"

Rachel wiped her nose on the short of her sleeve t-shirt and smiled. "It's nothing, really. I'll be okay,"

"Are you sure, Rach?"

This time, Quinn reached out to place her hand on top of hers and the sensation made her go dizzy, like she wanted to grab hold of something and hang on. "I'm sure," Rachel said softly, then immediately changed the topic. "What brings you into my room so early in the day?"

"Oh," Quinn snatched her hand back as if realizing for the first time she was touching Rachel. She felt the loss of that warmth running through her. "I got a call from my agent. I—um, I have to go back to New York,"

"Oh."

"It'll only be for a few days,"

"What will you have to do?"

"Rach, I haven't worked in two months since the accident."

"And now they're worried you no longer intend to work?"

"Something like that," Quinn said, her eyes examining Rachel's profile. It made her flush red at watching Quinn stare at her intently. "There's just some paperwork I have to do. My agent said she could find some acting work for me here. Something temporary so that I still had some form of income."

"In Lima?"

"Yeah, is that a problem?"

"No, it's just. You would stay here with me?"

"Why wouldn't I, Rach?"

It was not just Quinn's nervousness and ability to make their relationship work, there was something about this new commitment that accentuated every contentment and delight she felt about her—wife(?). What they had together over the last few days was interrupted time and that was something they hadn't had in years. Again she wondered, is this really my life from now on?

"New York has so many opportunities for actors. What kind of work could you undertake that would further your career from working in Lima?" She eyed Quinn suspiciously.

"You're here."

Rachel's stomach felt tight, her head was throbbing. Those words were refreshing and she basked in the moment greedily. "You would... move here for me?"

When Quinn spoke again her tone was quieter, more measured. "I would. I know you're not ready to go back. Probably not for a long time and I'm okay with that. I just want to be with you."

At that moment Rachel experienced a delicious wave of euphoria. She was gratified that someone like Quinn, someone who had been so popular back in high school, so attractive had made a play for her. "I want to go back to New York with you, Quinn..."

She raised her hand to stop Rachel from talking. "You're not ready and that's okay. We'll go when you're ready. For the time being I just want to be with you."

Quinn's purpose, Quinn's determination, Quinn's reassurance convinced her. "When will you be leaving?"

"I've already booked my flight for this afternoon. I came to ask if you wanted to have breakfast with me?"

"You cooked? I'm amazed you managed you conceal the smell. Daddy hates it when the house has a sort of cooking stench."

"No," she giggled. "I want to take you out."

Rachel nodded in affirmation. "Oh right, okay. Give me half an hour to get ready."

True to her word, Rachel was ready in half an hour and they began to walk the few blocks in the soft, cold morning. In winter, the day always starts white, then the light turns pale yellow before darkening gradually into the greeny-blue of the morning. The streets of Lima are eerily empty. She felt warm in her boots but she can see that the asphalt is iron cold. Rachel slipped her hands into her pockets and from the corner of her eye, she saw Quinn slowly slipping her arm through her own. For an instant, Rachel's breathing was a shallow panicked panting the best her miniature lungs can muster, her tiny heart ready to explode.

They stop in front of a little corner restaurant and before Quinn could pull Rachel in with her, she's confused at the worried expression on Rachel's face. "What's wrong?" She asked. "You don't want to go here?"

"That's not it," she exclaimed trying to ease the worry in Quinn's voice. "I thought we were going to Breadstix,"

Quinn raised her eyebrow. "But you hate Breadstix,"

"I guess I'm not used to going to a different place since Finn had always taken me to Breadstix." Immediately Rachel knew she had said the wrong thing. Their peace, in a sense, had been shattered. "Quinn, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Quinn shrugged off the comment, releasing Rachel's arm from her grip and walked in to take a table overlooking the street. They both sit absolutely still in the somewhat comfortable silence after ordering their food, a hot pot of tea in front of them. The wide expanse of the concertina window acts as a frame on the street scene being swished into whiteness. Rachel sunk into a reverie of acute awareness brought on by the lowering of heartbeat and pulse.

When their food arrived, Rachel could no longer sit in silence. "Quinn, I'm sorry I said that. Please say something,"

"I'm not angry," she said softly cutting through her omelette. "I understand."

"You don't have to lie to me. I'm trying to make this work,"

Across from her, Quinn looked more gorgeous than usual, enraged in the sunlight. "I know. I didn't say that you're not trying."

"But you think that I'm not trying. You think that because I won't be alone with you for more than five minutes I'm not trying. It's not _that_. I need time to adjust to things and to adjust to us."

"I have to stop you there," Quinn said, her voice heavy with scorn. "That's not what I think _at all_. Rachel, we've been together for five years, I'm pretty sure I know you more than you make it out to be."

Rachel, defeated, looked away from her, a white snowflake fluttered to the ground in slow motion. For a moment she thought it was a piece of fluff or feather-down from someone shaking a quilt out a window. Then more flakes were falling and she recognized it as snow falling. Suddenly the intersection was draped in this soft downwardness of white.

"We can go and walk in the snow for a bit after breakfast," Quinn said, seeing the excitement in those chocolate eyes. "I know how much you love it."

Rachel beamed and it wasn't long before they finished their foods, she had eaten her salad sandwich in quick speed and while she waited for Quinn to finish, she watched the snow continue to steadily fall as if ready now to take its time and fall forever. Quinn paid the bill and they walked side by side. It was hard for Rachel to understand that if she hadn't been in the accident she may not have been able to enjoy this moment like as if it were for the first time. The first snowflakes she felt since the accident brushed against her face and she tried to focus on individual snowdrops; then she tried to take in the whole scene. She realized that snowflakes do not flutter like leaves or feathers. Rather, they seem to fall to earth with a gentle and resigned heaviness.

They walked towards what Rachel recognized as the riverbank and she felt a sense of familiarity. Quinn wasn't walking as close to her as she had previously and Rachel yearned for her touch. She yearned again for that richer love: the mutual desire, opened armed and unencumbered. Across the river to her right the flakes of snow are pure white as they fall into the dark steel emptiness of the river; the flowing water, matte liquid, sponging up all the day's meager supplies of available color and reflecting.

"Why are we here?" Rachel asked, watching the falling snow curve towards the bow of the boat.

"Do you recognize this place?"

There was a glimpse of the tiniest of memory in the back of her mind etching its way to the front, a voice saying to her, remember me, remember this particular moment_._ "It feels familiar. I kind of recognize it, like it's in the back of my mind wanting to get out."

There was the faintest of smiles on Quinn's lips and her hazel eyes shone. "You led me here. I simply followed you."

"Is this place significant to us?"

"Yes, it is."

She waited for Quinn to continue but it was clear that she wanted Rachel to figure it out herself. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Quinn sighed and faced her, her smile disappeared. "I've learnt not to get my hopes up. When I recognized where you were going I didn't want to stop you in case maybe you remember something, but sometimes I realized that it's not always the case."

"I want to remember," she said, while watching the hundreds of snowflakes drop listlessly from the sky and make their tiny dimples on the surface of the water. "It feels warm and safe here. I can't explain it."

"It's like you're in a new world, somewhere richer than any dream."

"We met here, didn't we?"

Quinn nodded once and turned away from her.

"I thought we met in Freshmen year in front of the lockers?"

"Well, we did. But this place holds a different significance. It's the riverbank where we agreed to meet after having talked to each other on tumblr. We come here whenever we're back in Lima."

Rachel pressed her front to Quinn's side and she turned to look down at her. Her hazel eyes glistening. "Quinn, the fact that I came here on my own accord is a good sign. I may not remember the specifics of our relationship, but I believe this is a good sign. Don't you agree?"

"I guess," she said slowly.

"It's a great sign," Rachel stressed the importance of it. "You're important to me, Quinn. Why else would my subconscious take me to the one place that holds the most meaning to us?"

Quinn didn't reply to her, but Rachel knew she was internally agreeing with her. After a few more minutes they started off down the street and made their way back to the house. They walked back in silence, listening to the light breeze of the trees and the muted street noises, their footsteps echoing together. When they reached the house, Quinn walked up the steps leading to the front door and as she turned, Rachel, who was two steps down walked into the taller girl's elbow and clipped herself hard over the eye, knocking herself enough off balance that she tripped back, grabbed the railing for support and sat down on the step.

"Oh, shit," Quinn said. "I'm so sorry," Quinn sat beside her to brush her hand over Rachel's eye. Rachel felt her skin start to tingle at the contact. Quinn's face flushed with concern, and she was so close that Rachel's heart pounded. Her blood surged and she felt a light rush to her head. "Are you okay, Rach?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Let me see," she said, trying to look into Rachel's eyes. She put her hand gently on the side of Rachel's face to tip her chin up.

"Really, I'm fine, Quinn."

At that moment, the front door jerked opened and Hiram stared down at them oblivious to the small incident which had occurred—and oblivious to his daughter's bruised eye. "Oh good, you're back. Quinn, we should get going. Your plane leaves in three hours. It'll most likely take an hour and a half to get to the airport with this horrible snow and traffic, and then you have to wait in line to check in. You don't want to be late." He finally recognized that both girls were sitting on the step. "Why are you two sitting here? It's freezing."

"My eye is bruised, but you shouldn't be too concerned that your daughter has a bruised eye, dad." Rachel teased with a huge smile.

"Oh dear, what happened?" He bent over her to examine her eye, but she brushed his hand away.

"I accidentally hit her with my elbow," Quinn said.

"Well, if you're fine we should get going. I don't want Quinn to miss her flight. This meeting with her agent is extremely important for her career." He said with laughter in his tone.

"Clearly, Quinn is more important," Rachel rolled her eyes but stood up from her position. "Let me put some cream on it and I'll be right down."

"Wait, Rach," Quinn stood two steps down from her so that they were at eye level. "You should stay home and rest."

"It's only my eye, Quinn. I was in a car accident and I survived that."

"It's not that," she hesitated. "I don't want you to come."

"Why?"

"It's too hard."

"I should... go inside..." Hiram said awkwardly.

"No, Hiram, it's fine." Quinn said before he could leave. "Please, Rach. I don't want you to see me off. It'll be too hard."

"But you're coming back," Rachel said, trying to understand Quinn's point of view. "You're not planning on leaving me for good, are you?"

Quinn stared at her in awe for a moment and Rachel realized the desperation in her voice. Their encounter at the riverbank—although it hadn't brought back any memories—it gave her a sense of protection when in Quinn's presence. The brief time she had with Quinn looped into her mind like some bizarre and joyful segment of super 8. She was immensely interested in exploring the possibility of falling in love with Quinn—again.

Quinn held Rachel's hand in hers and the gesture made her heart lurch. "I'm coming back. It's just hard for me to walk away from you at the airport, even though it's only for a few days."

The breeze fluttered a few strands of hair in her face and Quinn brushed it away for her. "Does this have something to do with our past? Something else that I can't remember?"

"Sort of." She replied softly.

Hiram cleared his throat getting the girls' attentions. "I'll leave you two to it. I'll get your luggage, Quinn."

Quinn was about to thank him but Rachel spoke, "I want to know," she held her gaze, challenging Quinn to break the contact.

Quinn could never refuse her whenever Rachel pouted. "When we were in college we'd come back to Lima whenever we could, but sometimes we wouldn't be here at the same time so I'd fly back to New York and vice versa. There were lots of forlorn trips to the airport."

"Why didn't I just go back with you?"

"Money was tight back then, and don't tell my mom this but I missed her a lot in college. She was alone here and I tried to visit as much as possible. Sometimes with school, deadlines and exams, we couldn't be here at the same time."

Rachel exhaled in deeply, Quinn's perfume wafted toward her, very faint, a whisper of a scent that made her dizzy. "You promise you're coming back, right?" Rachel was certain that she barely knew _this_ Quinn Fabray, but everything smelled of the possibility of love.

Rachel watched thoughts pass across Quinn's face like slowly moving clouds. Then the bright sun shone as her enthusiasm rose. "I'll always come back for you." Quinn reached into her coat jacket and held out her hand, revealing a sparkling gold ring, made up of three perfect diamonds in a circle. "This is yours. I wanted to give it to you sooner but wasn't sure when the right time was."

"Were you afraid I would throw it away?" She joked, but it didn't settle too well with Quinn. "I was joking. I wouldn't—"

"I know." Quinn cracked a small smile.

Rachel held the ring in her hand, her heart swelled with blissfulness; she could swear it twinkled at her. There was the tiniest of letters engraved on the inner rim and she held it close to her eyes, squinting to read it: _Tell me you love me._

•••

**January 18th, 2016**

After Quinn left, the blankness of it all, the dividing of the worldly goods, the awful sadness was evident in the way Rachel carried herself. She became aware that Quinn was the bringer of light and all the tingling nerves she had felt. Quinn of the future, with eyes so green they hurt you, all that dazzling reflection. Her book shelf consisted of a small collection of Quinn's books, she knew this because there was a bookend labelled, _Quinn's books_ on one side of the shelf. Rachel knew without a doubt that it was her idea to label the section. She wondered whether Quinn had protested, which in turn would have led to an argument and in the end she relented because Quinn loved her unconditionally? Rachel smiled at the false memory she had created and sensed the excitement of finding out how well she and Quinn had gotten along.

She didn't know what had possessed her to pick up the book titled, _The Time Travellers Wife_ and she opened the first page to read in her handwriting that she had written, _rawr_. The book next to it was, _One Day_ and inside was the word _rawr_ written in Quinn's handwriting. In some obscure way she knew that _rawr_ meant _I love you_ in dinosaur.

In her heart she was aware of an emotion that can be sensed only by some animal instinct, of a psychic rumbling not even the most delicate seismograph could trace. She experienced for the second time since having woken from the accident a free fall into a silence that enveloped her like a blanket. As if controlled by a switch, all the ordinary sounds of the day dropped away instantly and there was nothing but the beat of her heart.

The music from her cell phone made her jump and with a fluster and she picked it up knowing that it would be Quinn, but was extremely surprised to see Finn's name glaring back at her on the screen.

"Hello?" She answered with a swipe of her finger.

"Uh, Rach? Hey," she could hardly recognize the sound of his voice. It was deeper, somehow. "It's me, Finn."

"Hi, Finn," she beamed. "What do I owe this pleasure?"

"Are you home?" He asked suddenly.

"Yes, I am. Is something the matter?"

She heard a shuffle on his end of the line and then his voice again. "No, nothing's wrong. I'm actually outside your house. I rang the doorbell a few times but there was no answer."

Immediately she made her way down the stairs. "Oh, I'm sorry. My dad must have forgotten to change the batteries. I didn't hear anything." She reached for the handle of the front door and opened it with a light pull. The image was something out of a romantic film: she, the gracious female lead holding a phone in one hand and looking into the eyes of her male lead, with a cell phone in his hand, as though completely surprised that the mysterious person they were talking to was on the other side of the door.

Finn's eyes brightened when he saw her. She could see a lean-muscled body hidden behind faded jeans and a loose t-shirt. Her heart picked up at the sight of him as it used to. He _was_ good-looking. Not in the stunning, almost disturbing way that some people were, but in a healthy American way. Five years hadn't done much change to his appearance, except maybe he had grown a little taller and his skin was sunburnt from working outdoors. As he held out his arms to hug her gently, she saw a little sadness in his eyes.

"Do you want to come inside?" She asked.

"Is Quinn here?" He scanned over the top of her head.

"No, she's in New York for a few days. Were you looking for Quinn?"

He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck and spoke almost in a whisper. "Uh, no. I was looking for you. I just didn't want to see her." Before she could answer him, he said, "Would you like to go for a walk?"

She didn't see the harm in a simple walk, and she could certainly use the fresh air. Since Quinn left two days prior she had removed herself from her fathers and took refuge in her room, scanning through photo albums and letters Quinn had written to her in hopes of triggering a memory—any memory. She grabbed her jacket and they walked side by side without touching. Maples and black walnut trees lined the street and the air still had a morning hush. Rachel watched her feet on the wet sidewalk, feeling suddenly uncertain. She didn't know how to start after all.

"So, how have you been? I'm sorry I didn't come by to see you sooner. You know, with Quinn and everything," he said.

"Oh, you don't need to apologize Finn," she glanced sideways at him. He was looking at the sidewalk, too. "I've been adjusting to this new life." She continued, trying to put some enthusiasm into her voice. "It has been an arduous few weeks, and a complete bewilderment on my behalf to discover that Quinn Fabray is my wife. It's very..." Her voice trailed off and she laughed nervously.

"Shocking. I know, I thought it was shocking, too." He finished for her. He stopped and stood looking down at his scuffed tennis shoes. She looked up to find those steady brown eyes on her face.

"You know, _you_ look pretty great now," he said. Rachel opened her mouth in dismay, but he was speaking again. "I want to get straight to the point, Rach. No more games. So here goes." He took a long, deep breath. When he exhaled she could see the smoke escape his lips. "I've missed you, and I know you're with Quinn and whatever, that's fine. But we've always had a connection. You know that, don't you?" She stared at him, and he smiled, a crooked, rueful smile. "I want to give us another try."

"Finn, I'm with Quinn. We're _married_."

"But you don't remember any of it. How can you be with someone you don't remember?"

"I made a commitment to Quinn and I intend to keep that commitment. I've seen photos of us, read the letters she wrote to me. I was in love with her and I can't abandon her just because I don't remember anything. She was there for me the moment I woke up and she's been by my side ever since."

"I would have been there for you if someone had told me," he started walking again. "And if Quinn wasn't so possessive of you."

Rachel punched him lightly in the arm. "She's protective."

"She's possessive," he stopped, looking at her again. "I've missed you a lot. These past few years haven't been the same without you. I was an idiot to let you go. _I_ was an idiot full stop. But things can change, Rach. They'll be different." As Rachel's face fell, he added. "Tell me that you don't feel anything for me."

"I don't." She said after a moment of hesitation, and then added quickly. "I don't know. I have these feelings for Quinn that are new and invigorating—in a sense—and when I think of you old emotions resurface and they both collide like the Titanic impacting with the iceberg. It's complicated, and I'm extremely baffled to feel these things all at once."

"Have you thought about me since you've been back?"

The question startled her, but she answered him truthfully. "At first, yes. But over the past few days I've found that my thoughts have been more and more occupied with Quinn."

Finn's smile disappeared. He said distantly, "I wish I had been here for you,"

"You're here now."

The next instant Finn's smile returned, his eyes were dancing. "Can we be friends then?"

"Of course, we've always been friends."

Rachel missed the wicked gleam in Finn's eyes as he held out his arms and she hugged him hard. He didn't release her when he asked, "So, are you free tonight for a friendly dinner?"

She stepped back to look into his face. "Yes, that would be lovely."

•••

**September 23rd, 2011**

Seeing Quinn at school since that uneventful day they met at the riverbank was like watching the ice crack. She had tried to reach out to Quinn but her text messages and phone calls went unanswered and she sat each night for hours in front of her laptop waiting for Quinn to come online but she never did. She was terrified but in a numb kind of way—she couldn't scream or run or do anything but shiver and try to accept what had happened. Despite her fright, Rachel couldn't help noticing that Quinn looked more beautiful everyday—delicate and ethereal.

Kurt remained the only person who knew about her situation with Quinn. He sat with her for hours the day she came home from the riverbank, eyes swollen and red, tears streaming down her face as she recalled every detail of her encounter with Quinn. He spent the next day in her company and watching DVDs while eating vegan sweets he had bought. He spent the next day after _that_ with her the moment school finished to the moment she went to sleep, while she acknowledged that she had lost Quinn due to the unethical way she handled the situation. Quinn was elegant and brilliant and gracious when she was in her Head B—In Charge mode (she was not going to say _that_ word); Rachel had witnessed this on a number of occasions, but what she hadn't realized was that Quinn had never completely ignored her when they were in each other's presence. That is, until a few days previous when Quinn wouldn't _glance_ her way. Not in glee, not down the hallway, not by the lockers, not in class. Quinn averted her gaze on every occasion.

The next day after _that_ Kurt grumbled at her in frustration. He was especially appalled at the fact that she had completely given up on Quinn. He had come barging through her front door and spoke to her in a very accusing tone,

"Rachel, so you lied to her, it wasn't even a very bad lie if I'm being honest. That doesn't mean you should give up on trying to win her back. The girl thinks that she's not good enough for you not because she doesn't _love _you."

His frustration increased when she asked, "What am I supposed to do? I don't know what else to do."

"For God's sakes! Would you give up on Broadway if you got rejected from _one_ audition? Would you just say to yourself, oh well, my life is basically over because the casting director rejected me for this role?"

"I feel as if the answer is no."

"Of course, its no!" His eyes were wide, and his breath was coming fast. "Pick yourself up, Rach. Do something spectacular to win her over."

"I'm not quite sure declaring my love to her in front of the whole school is the direction I should be taking. It would only upset her." Rachel hoped that that was the right response, but Kurt had stomped his feet around her living room and stepped closer, placing his hand on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length.

"Listen to me. I'm only going to say this once," he started. "You're dumb." She gasped and he cut her off. "You're the queen of drama. I thought you were romantic?" Opening her mouth to speak once again, she was cut off. "Choose a song and serenade her in glee, not the whole school. I swear, even I thought you would be the one to come up with that idea."

She had practiced and practiced and _practiced_ for days—hours on end—and was ready to make her serenading debut to one Quinn Fabray, but the adrenaline rush that started in the auditorium that morning expended in the middle of AP English the moment she saw Quinn. She kept herself distracted by taking notes the entire class, and at times she felt like she was about to dive face-first onto her desk. Her hand was exhausted of writing, she wasn't entirely sure _what_ she was writing. By the time class was over she trudged out of there so quickly she pushed passed two of her classmates to reach the door. Jostling pass by sweater clad students down the hallway, she glimpsed a friendly face.

"Hi, Finn." She meant simply to wave at him as she went.

He smiled at her more warmly than he ever had before. "Hey, you." He murmured as he changed direction and slung his arm possessively around her shoulders. Only then did she remember that if Quinn saw this, she may get a little jealous and it could work out in her favor. However, Quinn had a possessive nature herself and she thought better of it. She tried to shrug Finn's arm off of her shoulder, but he whispered in her ear, "How have you been?"

She shivered, and not in the tingly sense she was used to. "I'm good, thanks."

Finn led her through the hallway and down the stairs to the ground level of the school toward the choir room. Several people saw them along the way and she noticed a few raised eyebrows and some whispering. But as luck would have it, Quinn stood by her locker talking to Santana and Brittany as they walked passed. Quinn's ever-present smile faded when she saw Finn's arm around Rachel, and her heart sank. Neither girls said a word when they passed, Quinn just glanced down and pretended to be incredibly interested in her shoes.

Together they wandered into the choir room and she saw Kurt's smile turn into a frown when he saw Finn's arm around her. He was talking to Brad and pointing at the music sheet in front of the piano, no doubt discussing the song Rachel was prepared to sing. Bless Kurt, she thought, and his uncontrollable need to play match-maker. He strolled over, pulling her away from the taller boy and sat her down on the seat between himself and Blaine.

"What are you thinking?" He whispered just loud enough for her to hear. "Quinn could have seen you."

"Well—"

"No!" His mouth was wide in shock, his eyes almost bulging out from their sockets. "You better put on a damn good performance, Rachel Berry."

At this, she beamed. "Don't I ever?"

Soon, the classroom was filled and Mr. Schue began discussing the week's assignment. Rachel tried to control her nerves and focus her attention on the assignment he was explaining; but she found it hard to concentrate with Quinn's blonde silky hair in front of her. She saw herself on her bed, with Quinn on top of her, her hazel eyes burning into Rachel's soul. Her hand running through said blonde silky hair. Quinn's soft lips on hers, on her neck, nibbling on her pulse point. The feel of Quinn's soft, smooth skin against her own. Quinn whispering her name, the sound of _Rachel_ leaving those plump lips. _Rachel. Rachel_—

"Rachel!" Kurt smacked his friend with desperation and impossible force on her ribs. "Tell him you want to sing before he starts going on about something boring again,"

"Oh, right." Rachel raised her hand to get Mr. Schue's attention.

"Yes, Rachel?"

"I have a song I would like to perform." She cleared her throat to control the croaky voice that had escaped.

"Oh, good," he clapped and there were a few sniggers from the other students. Namely, Santana. "The floor's all yours." He said.

She bounced down the bleachers and took her position at the front. Quinn was staring at her and she returned the gaze. Her eyes were the same hot, dark depths they were the last time they saw each other at the riverbank, and Rachel fell into them again, growing breathless. "This song is for... someone special," she said softly. "You know who you are."

Kurt gave her a friendly smile of confidence, eliciting a confused expression from Blaine beside him, and she was thankful for having such a great friend in him. She gave a little extra bow to him and nodded to the band—and Brad—in the corner. The notes of the piano started, and music swelled behind her as she began her first song dedicated to Quinn Fabray, singing her little heart out.

_I've been beaten down  
>I've been kicked around<br>But she takes it all for me_

Rachel kept her eyes on Quinn, watching the flutter of the ends of her blouse and her tousled hair. The fluorescent light above backlit her hair and she looked like an angel again.

_And I lost my faith, in my darkest days  
>She makes me want to believe<em>

Rachel breathed deeper, and she looked down at the beautiful strong bones of Quinn's face, her lashes batted at her every time she blinked. With Quinn watching her, she felt lightheaded with possibility. She swayed slowly in rhythm to the music, singing with pitch perfection.

_They call her love, love, love, love, love  
>They call her love, love, love, love, love<br>She is love, and she is all I need  
>She is all I need<em>

All Rachel could think about was home. Quinn was home. The thought chilled her, she had fallen _so_ fast, she was in _so_ much danger of getting her heart broken. Quinn looked solid sitting there, broad and strong and real and infinitely desirable.

_Well, I had my ways  
>They were all in vain, and she waited patiently<br>It was all the same, all my pride and shame  
>She put me on my feet<em>

She noticed the smallest grin on Quinn's lips and she almost lost her breath, it was riveting what Quinn could do to her. She felt her heart ache, felt it clench in her chest and became very aware for the first time how much she loved Quinn. A wave of heat rolled over her and she gathered her energy and collected her voice to sing out the last few notes.

_They call her love, love, love, love, love  
>They call her love, love, love, love, love<em>

She finished, perfectly on key, looking into Quinn's eyes and telling her, _She is love, and she is all I need_. Rachel's grin faded and all sound seemed to have stopped and there was just the two of them in the room, she felt dizzy because she meant those words and hoped that Quinn knew it too. Whatever else was going on, whatever else was happening between them, _this_ was real. Even if it was just for this moment, it was real and she loved Quinn and it was better than anything she had ever dreamed of. The silence around them was deafening and when she came back to reality she saw the same surprise in Quinn's eyes, but there was no regret, no confusion. Quinn knew it was real.

Then Puck said, "Wow," and Tina said, "Alright, I am impressed," and Kurt stood up to clap vigorously, lifting Blaine up off his feet to do the same. The whole room soon filled with claps and whispers and whistles. Rachel sent up a prayer of thanksgiving to her wonderful friends for distracting her. She almost lost her composure, the blood was rushing to her head and was utterly close to announcing, I love you, Quinn Fabray.

"That was great, Rachel," Mr. Schue placed his hand on her shoulder to get her attention. "Although, it didn't have anything to do with this week's assignment, but it's definitely a contender for Sectionals."

Santana sniggered. "So Hobbit here gets to sing a song that wasn't part of the assignment and it's a contender for Sectionals? Are you sleeping with her, Mr. Schue?"

"Santana!" He shouted. "Every song is a contender,"

"You didn't consider Trouty Mouth." She argued.

Brittany rubbed soothing strokes on her back. "I liked that song, S. You can sing that to me any time. But I don't have a trouty mouth so I hope you're not sad about that."

Mr. Schue seemingly ignored Santana and dismissed the class. Rachel was relieved to get out of there quickly, her throat was dry and she was in need of hydration. She had already drawn more attention to herself than she should from Finn, and she didn't want to have to look at Quinn any longer. If Quinn was going to reject her, she needed to gulp down a nice, cool bottle of water to put her body back into equilibrium. All she could feel was heat radiating from within her.

As she reached the door a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. "Rach, can we talk?" Finn always appeared at the worst of times.

Quinn walked passed her with the same beauty and allure, Rachel couldn't keep her eyes off of her. There was a terrible sharpness that hit her mentally when she noticed the glare directed at Finn. Was Quinn jealous?

Finn taped her lightly on the shoulder and she turned her attention toward him. "Actually, Finn. I have a busy afternoon. Can this wait—"

"That song, what did you mean by it?" He interrupted. "Do you want to try again?"

And of course he was going to interpret the song as being about him. "Umm, that song... It wasn't about you. Or us."

"But you said it was for someone special."

"It is." Quinn is special. She bit her tongue to stop it from slipping out.

They made their way through the front doors and she saw Quinn talking with Santana and Brittany from her car, but she feared that Quinn was watching her and Finn engaging in conversations more than listening to her friends. She was terrified that if she made a sound Quinn would stride over towards her. Words were spilling out of Finn's mouth and she nodded as she watched him speak, her mind elsewhere. There was real danger in the way Quinn was looking at her; her muscles were frozen too, held motionless by her terror—and by some nameless force. Quinn really could kill with her looks.

"So I'll pick you to tonight?" Finn lightly caressed her arm, and smiled the cruel smile of triumph.

Her mouth opened to answer, but someone else beat her to it. "No, she can't," Quinn's voice was soft and cold and light, and it made Rachel lightheaded again. She couldn't stop looking at Quinn as the girl made her way toward them. "You can go now, Finn."

Finn moved in front of Rachel, easy and precisely controlled like he had dealt with _this_ Quinn before. "I'm not leaving. We were just talking."

"You asked her out on a date!"

"You did?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah, Rach. You said yes."

"I did?" She was overly confused.

"Quinn," Finn reasoned. "This has nothing to do with you. We're getting back together and we're going to talk about it tonight."

"We are?" Rachel asked again, overly-overly confused. She couldn't even think of proper synonyms to replace _overly_. Her internal thesaurus was missing.

Quinn didn't seem to have registered what he had said. "Listen, I have to talk to Rachel. Will you just leave?"

"I'm not leaving," he said loudly. "We were in the middle of talking."

"Fine, you know what? We'll leave." Quinn grabbed her arm and her feet moved involuntarily in accordance with Quinn's steps.

Rachel heard Finn yell out something but her attention was focused on Quinn's hand on her bare arm; they were as delicate as she had imagined. She thought once again of Quinn's skin against her own, Quinn's muscles, her heat, her sweat. Her pulse began to race, her knees weak and she almost fell to the ground if it weren't for Quinn who held onto her tightly.

"What's happening? Are you okay?" Quinn asked, full of concern.

"Umm, I—think—so."

When she stood up straight she looked around and saw that she had been led to a secluded area in the edge of the grounds, behind the bus-stop. A few other couples whom she didn't recognize from school sat together in the shade under a thick carpet of still-soft fallen leaves, orange and red, while resting their back against the trunk of a maple tree. Quinn leaned her back against a light pole and Rachel took the position next to her. She gingerly stared up at Quinn waiting for her to say something.

"So, you and Finn are getting back together?" Quinn began in such an easy tone, as easily as if stating the stars were in the sky.

"No, that is definitely not happening!"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "You didn't seem to be protesting when he asked you out on a date."

"That—well," she was at a loss for words. "I—"

For a moment Quinn looked at Rachel without recognition, her eyes dark in the sunlight, and she thought of some predator, a predator wanting their prey. Then some of the darkness faded from her gaze. "What were you concentrating on if not him?"

New possibilities crowded into her mind. "You." Rachel didn't want to be dishonest, she had lied enough.

Quinn stared at her, eyes wide, any previous thought she had was completely forgotten. She stared for quite some time before she was able to say, "That was unexpected."

"I thought it would be quite obvious. I sang that song specifically for you, so it's quite expected that you are the one that—"

"I meant that I didn't expect you to say it."

"Oh, right. Well, I thought there should be no reason to hide my romantic nature."

Quinn considered that response, then pushed it aside to deal with the matter at hand. "Rach, I meant what I said at the riverbank. I'm only going to hurt you—"

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"You don't know that you will."

Quinn's light eyes narrowed slightly. "I have before, many times. Whose to say it won't happen?"

"We're embarking on a relationship, Quinn. It's different." Rachel clutched at her cardigan to stop her from moving away. "We'll figure it out together. This is new to me, too—" I love you, she wanted to say. No, this wasn't the right time, they still had a lot to learn about one another. "I know you feel the same way." And it was as if Quinn knew what she was referring to.

Quinn brushed her fingertip along Rachel's hairline, a caress so intimate that it made Rachel's cheeks flush. "I can't believe it was you." She whispered.

"I find it hard to believe that you're entirely surprised. You did mention several times that _Rachel_ reminded you of me."

"Yes, but to find out it was _you_. You were right in front of me all this time. I couldn't see it."

Warmth coursed through her hearing those words. This time, they were much more affectionate. Quinn was shy and loving, her voice was mellow. "I couldn't believe it was you either. Who would have known that Quinn Fabray had a very endearing, but reserved, personality hidden under the H.B.I.C façade?"

"You don't you have to abbreviate it, Rach. You can actually _say_ it."

"I refuse to say the _B_ word." Quinn sniggered and rolled her eyes, and Rachel said, ever so gently, "I guess it was just waiting for the right person to bring out that side to you."

"I was waiting for _you_."

Five words. That was all it took to shake the protective wall around her heart down to its very foundation. A simple statement, yet, at the same time, the most glorious thing she had ever heard anybody say to her. It was the _you_ that stuck with her.

•••

**January 20th, 2016**

Rachel glanced down at her watch again, took a deep breath, and made her calculations. Quinn's plane departed New York two hours ago and Quinn had sent her a text informing her that she had taken her seat and was waiting for the plane to depart. She had done her research, from New York to Ohio the flight approximately took an hour and forty-five minutes. Three hours later and Quinn had yet to send her a text stating that she had landed safely and was going through customs. Around her bored, frustrated men and women were mutinously watching the information desk and arrival gates ready to spring into action at an announcement or the appearance of a loved one. Curious, she pondered whether in their eyes she appeared like them: tensed, panicky, anxious.

The steady stream of bland, bloodless oriental music from the loudspeakers was interrupted by an effeminate, almost vixenish male voice asking the travelers on the next United Airlines flight to San Francisco to proceed immediately to their gate for further security check. Not being able to sit still any longer Rachel got up from her seat and walked toward the gate, then back again several times. She felt as though she was under the influence of some drug; her skin was unnaturally flushed and she was sweating profusely, even in the chill of the airport. What if something had happened to Quinn during the flight? What if she never made it? What if she was currently lost on an island surviving on nothing but raw fish and sea water?

"Rachel, please stop pacing around. You're giving your father and I a headache," Leroy stopped her in her tracks. "Sit down."

"I can't," she stomped her foot. "What if something happened to her?"

"Nothing could have happened, sweetie. You've been watching too much dramatic television," he reasoned.

"The flight was probably just delayed due to the weather and the snow." Hiram added.

Oh yeah, she forgot about the snow. Being inside for three hours did that to a person, especially a person who was extremely worried about her significant other. Wait, significant other? Her body over-heated at the thought that she had referred to Quinn as her significant other and she turned away from her fathers to cover the blush that had rose in her cheeks.

Unfortunately, Hiram noticed. He wrapped his daughter in his arms. "You miss her, don't you?"

She nodded against his chest. "I have come to miss her dearly."

"She'll be here, Rach. Nothing's going to happen to Quinn."

They had spoken on the phone every day since Quinn left, short but meaningful conversations. Quinn called her to say good morning and once again to say good night. In-between, they would send each other texts and mention their day. She hadn't yet told Quinn about Finn, because well, she didn't want Quinn to be upset with her. She wanted Quinn to enjoy her time in New York as it had been her home away from home for five years. Quinn would have no doubt gone back to their apartment and perhaps been afflicted by their belongings and her desire to return to that life. Bringing up Finn would only cause harm to the recent development in their relationship, and there wasn't anything interesting to mention about Finn. He had taken her to a nice, friendly dinner once, and has been keeping her company ever since. They enjoyed short walks, he watched movies with her—sitting a good distance apart on her couch. He taught her how to play videos games, they sang together. He made her laugh and she enjoyed his company. It was refreshing to get to know Finn again and for the first time she wasn't upset that she had lost her memories in the accident.

"There she is." Rachel heard Leroy say enthusiastically.

She rolled up her magazine and forced it into her handbag, and looked up at arrivals to see Quinn making her way toward them. She was wearing plain denim jeans and a grey sweater under her black, thick winter coat, a scarf over her neck. Her blonde hair tied up messily, her green eyes were as clear as a note on a violin. She didn't even look like she had been sitting on a plane for hours, she looked like she could have just walked off the Venice boardwalk with a book under her arm, ready to settle in at the Oceanside café. Rachel stood up and then couldn't move, she waited trembling as Quinn came over and hugged Leroy and Hiram and then brought Rachel into her. Just to feel Quinn's touch, to hold her, after only a few days caused Rachel to feel a strange eccentric sensation. While she couldn't remember their past, she couldn't deny the magnetic pull that drew her towards Quinn.

"Your mom couldn't be here today," Hiram said. "Did you get her message? She asked me to pass it on in case you didn't receive it."

"Yes, I did. She left about fifty messages last night in my voicemail saying that she had to attend a conference." Quinn smiled at the memory. "Have you been waiting long?" She asked apologetically.

"A few good hours." Leroy shrugged good-naturedly. He grabbed her luggage and pulled it along to the car.

"The plane got delayed during take-off and had to make a layover at Columbus because of the weather."

"You should have sent out a warning. Rachel was worried." He winked at his daughter who was in a state of shock since seeing Quinn.

"Oh yeah, Rachel couldn't stop pacing around wondering whether you were alive or not." Hiram laughed.

Hearing their laughter, Rachel unconsciously linked her arm with Quinn's and felt her muscles twitch. "I must have you know, flying in this weather is extremely dangerous, not to mention that its peak season."

The pleasant, sterile warmth of the long hours they had spent in the sealed heated air-conditioned world of the airport was immediately shattered once they stepped through the doors into the damp, arctic air of Lima. She let Quinn guide her through the mob of people haggling diffidently and inexpertly with the cab drivers who formed shouting, gesticulating circles around them. She enjoyed her four days of independence, but she much preferred the security of Quinn by her side, the knowledge that there was someone there to protect her, someone there all the time. The four days alone, rummaging through old photos and letters and spending time with Finn, all that was evaporating.

Once they were in the car, Rachel asked, "Did you sort everything out?"

Quinn nodded expectantly, remembering the sole reason she took this trip. "Yeah, everything's good. Umm..." She reached into her handbag and pulled out a thick, yellow envelope. "These are all letters from your Broadway friends, they wanted to give you something to remember them, you know, hoping to trigger a memory or something."

"Wow," Rachel peeled it opened and peaked inside. "It's so bulky. I must really be popular."

"You don't say." Quinn laughed. Rachel loved the sound of her laughter.

"Did you bring me back a present?"

"That's your present."

"Quinn!" She pouted. "This is not a proper present. You promised."

"I gave you letters from your friends. You'll be enjoying that for a few weeks. Mind you, you have a lot of friends."

She folded her arms and looked out the window. The day was overcast, January gloom, the bitterness in the air beading on the windows. "I don't like you very much right now."

"Rach," she tugged at Rachel's coat to get her attention. "Don't be like that."

"I was eager to see you because I thought you had a present for me."

"_That_ was why you were pacing around like your dad had said?" Quinn knew she was joking, but couldn't help the way her voice squeaked with shock.

"Yes, because I wanted a present."

"Rachel," Leroy looked at her through the rear-view mirror. "Don't lie, sweetie, you were genuinely worried for Quinn's safety."

"Daddy!" She did not return his smile. "Whose side are you on?"

Leroy focused his attention back to the freeway and Hiram hummed softly to the music on the radio beside his husband. It was extraordinary, the feeling of love in their little family. She knew nothing but safety and warmth. That seems all the more extraordinary now that she considers she may be falling in love with Quinn.

"I got you this," Quinn placed a rectangle box in front of her. "It's sort of a re-gift."

With sparkling eyes she opened the box, but not before brushing her fingertips against Quinn's. Inside revealed a star pendant necklace, identical to the one she has seen Quinn wearing on a number of occasions.

"You left it at our apartment when we left for Thanksgiving," Quinn explained. The way Quinn said _our apartment_ set the fire in her soul. "If you haven't figured it out, which you probably have, I have the same one."

"It's beautiful," she said, closing the box and placed her hand on top of Quinn's. "Thank you."

They drove a long way to a real country, along roads with no signals, just dairies and fields. They came passed nice suburbs, then the not-so-nice ones, then the brand new subdivisions alternating with lumberyards and farm equipment rentals. Finally, they turned off the freeway and drove south and exited onto a street that sloped downward like a ramp, clusters of lavender jacarandas emerged from the ranks of trees as the car stitched along the grey and white streets. Rachel watched the houses grow larger and larger until she recognized their house in the distance, and the closer they reached it, the sharper she recognized the man standing in front of the house as Finn.

Quinn's fingers gripped tightly onto her own, but it wasn't out of protection, it was out of anger. Finn looked amused when he saw her, he was unaffected by Quinn's appearance. He brushed his hair back with his hand, his cheeks were rosier than usual.

"Hey, Rach." Everything about him was smooth, calm, underplayed. It made Rachel anxious. She was enjoying the routine they had settled into in the car, and now it was being thrown off by the part she didn't know yet, the part that could change everything. "How are you, Quinn?"

Quinn's smile was gone, her face deflated, mask-like. The vigor returned to her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see Rachel."

"Why?"

"Because we've been hanging out for the past few days and had planned something for today."

Quinn glanced over at Rachel, questioning why she had been hanging out with Finn. She thought quickly, "Finn, I told you I had plans today."

"I know, but I thought that after Quinn came home we could do something together."

Quinn's hand closed around hers, tugging her towards the door. "Let's go."

Finn held her back. "Hey, we were just talking."

Rachel looked from one to another, they were both shifting into battle mode, ready to fight. "Stop it, both of you." She took one step towards Quinn, hoping to put some light back into her now clouded eyes. She wanted to look at Quinn and feel like diving into a sun-warmed pool, filled with light, the way she had felt in the past week. "Can we talk about this, please?"

However, Quinn wasn't looking at Rachel. She was looking passed her—at Finn—eyes blank as a doll's. "I'm going inside. Stay, leave, I don't care." She edged passed Finn shoving him to one side and the next thing Rachel heard was the slam of the front door.

"Hey, Mr. Berrys." Finn smiled graciously at her dads, they returned his greeting but it was void of any interest.

"Rachel, we'll see you inside." Hiram patted her on the shoulder and she watched her dads walk away.

When her fathers were out of sight, Finn said, "So, how about we do something?"

The answer came to her almost immediately, terrifying but inevitable. "I have to talk to Quinn."

"Wait, Rach," he stepped in front of her. "You don't have to talk to Quinn if you don't want to, just because she's angry doesn't mean you should comfort—"

"It's a matter of _I want to_."

"Because she's your wife? She should understand that we're friends. She can't stop you from seeing your friends."

She took a deep breath. A pressure had risen inside of her, a feeling of anger. "I hadn't told Quinn that we were hanging out. I was going to tell her today. I should have been the one to tell her, not you," she could tell it startled him to hear her say that. "Why are you here? You knew I had plans."

He put one hand on her shoulder and leaned closer. "I'm sorry, I just really enjoyed hanging out with you."

She brushed the tear that rolled down her cheek with the back of her hand. "I'm still coping with everything and Quinn and I are still in the early reconciliation phase of our relationship, so I hope you can understand that I won't be able to see you as often. I want to make things work between us."

"Okay, I understand. I'll be here for you if you need me," he embraced her softly and she wrapped her arms around him, sighing into the hug. When they parted, he kissed her on the cheek. "Call me if you need anything."

She walked inside the house not wanting to delay her confrontation with Quinn any further. Her fathers hugged her, said reassurances, and told her that Quinn was in the guest bedroom. She loved them with all her heart: their understanding, easy-going nature, the independence they bestowed upon her, their love for her was the one thing she knew that would always remain constant.

She knocked three times on Quinn's bedroom door before walking in to see her laying on the bed. This is it, Rachel thought to herself. A ringing filled her ears. And so, a small event had turned into a gigantic catastrophe. It was like déjà vu, something in the back of her mind was telling her that she had done this before, had lied to Quinn and had to face the consequences. She walked slowly into the room—heart pounding—the distance from the door to the bed seemed longer than a marathon. When Quinn turned her head to look at her, she saw the damage clearly now, Quinn watched her with that odd remoteness, as if her mind had switched off or simply fled, as if the pressures upon it were too much.

At last Rachel reached the bed and sat beside Quinn. "I'm sorry," was all she could say.

"Did you have fun while I was gone?"

Rachel stared at her. The gap between them was increasing; there seemed no way for her to reach Quinn. "I had planned to tell you."

"When? All those times I called you while I was in New York? All those texts you sent telling me about your day?" Quinn said, sounding short of breath. "I must have misread the part in the marriage handbook where it was okay for your wife to not tell you for four days that she was hanging out with her ex-boyfriend."

The anguish and incredulity mingled in Rachel's face. "Finn was my ex-boyfriend in high school. That was five years ago. Let it go, Quinn!"

Quinn sat up abruptly. "You woke up from a coma and thought you were married to Finn Fucking Hudson, so no, you _cannot_ tell me to let this go. You cannot tell me to let it go when our whole lives have been flipped upside down since the accident."

She began to protest, then stopped. Quinn's expression stopped her. Something had dropped away, laying bare a terrible knowledge she'd glimpsed in Quinn before but never seen directly. Rachel made a sound and moved away. "You hate me for it."

"I don't." Quinn said, making an effort to speak calmly.

"Yes, you do. You hate me for having lost any memory of the past five years. You hate me for causing your life to be flipped upside down—"

"For God sakes, Rachel, I don't hate you. I hate the situation that we're in! Are you happy? There, I said it. It's frustrating, waiting day in and day out wondering whether you're ever going to remember us or not, something, _anything_. I'm _tired_, literally, _tired_!"

Quinn's words made the certainty fall against her with brutal coherence, unyielding as earth. She felt buried in it. Some taboo had been broken. This kind of honesty just wasn't called for. They sat in silence and Rachel felt what seemed like indigestion. Then she thought she might be having a heart attack. Then she thought, don't be ridiculous. She hated her weakness, she hated herself. She hated what she was doing to Quinn. Her mind was going fast but none of her thoughts made sense.

After a while of silence, Quinn said, "I shouldn't have said that."

But Rachel knew their hearts were scarred and might never get better. Time seemed to be moving in lumbering jerks, each thing separate. It was painful to be alive.

"I love you. I love you so much. It hurts that you don't remember anything. It hurts that I can't tell you I love you, I can't kiss you or hold you, I can't even sleep in the same bed as you." These were the kind of words that locked you up for life. It was clear and terrifying. "I know you're adapting and that you need time. I have no problem living here with you until you're ready to go back to New York, but the fact that I can't do any of those things with you _kills_ me."

Her body, her heart, her mind, her soul, her hands, her lips, every part of her felt brittle. Rachel was so scared that she couldn't even form rational thoughts. All she felt was fear, the terror that after this moment, everything would be changed. After this, things could never be the same.

"I had no idea you felt that way," Rachel finally managed, holding back a sob. "I didn't know I was putting you through all that. I know that the past two weeks have been difficult, but I was wrong to think we were at peace with one another. I was wrong to make you give up for life for me." She looked up to see that Quinn was crying, her heart died in her chest, the pain was unbearable. "I want you to be happy, Quinn."

"I never said I wasn't happy,"

"You're not happy." The conversation was getting emotional, it was a series of hidden meanings, one after another. "You don't have to say it," the tears silently climbed over Rachel's lids and began their descend down her cheeks. "You have a right to be tired and frustrated. It's been weeks and I haven't remembered anything—"

"You unconsciously walked to the riverbank the other day. You said it was a great sign—"

"But it wasn't a memory. As familiar as it was, I didn't remember anything. If you weren't there to tell me I probably would have never known the significance of the riverbank."

Quinn's expression became a pained one and she stared at Rachel a few moments before speaking. "Are you happy?"

"I think I am."

"Then I'm happy, too."

"You can't say that after you've told me how you felt. Everything you've said is contradicting itself," Rachel froze, choosing her words carefully. "I can't make you happy. Not like this. Can you honestly tell me that you're going to stop feeling this way now that we've stopped treading on egg shells? Can you honestly tell me you want this life?"

Quinn looked straight at her. "I don't know anything at the moment except that I love you and that you are the only thing I am sure of in my life."

Hearing those words made her body tingle. It sent a thrilling electricity up and down her spine until the very tips of her fingers sang. She also felt a pang of regret. She reached up to wipe Quinn's tears. "I care about you and for the past week I've been enamored about the possibility of falling in love with you." She took Quinn's hands in hers, flattening them and stroking her open palms. "I've never thought about how difficult this has been for you. I've been selfish and wanting you here with me because I've felt safe and loved. That's not right. Love isn't selfish. It's kind and gentle and bursting of life. If we are to do this, we need to be completely honest with our feelings as well as each other. We need to change."


	5. Chapter 5

_Man, oh, man, you're my best friend, I'll scream it to the nothingness  
>There ain't nothing that I need<br>Well, hot and heavy pumpkin pie, chocolate candy Jesus Christ  
>Ain't nothing please me more than you<br>Home, let me come home  
>Home is wherever I'm with you<em>

—Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros: Home

•••

**January 20th, 2016**

The first night Quinn stayed with the Berrys after Rachel came home from the hospital, she heard Rachel cry in the confines of her bedroom. She had intended to say good night to her wife but she heard the sound of jagged breathing, her sobs becoming louder, deep, racking cries. But she did nothing except sit outside Rachel's bedroom door, every sob took Rachel further away from her and she didn't know how to make it stop. The next morning Rachel acted as if it never happened, and if Quinn hadn't been there to witness it, she would have thought it never happened. Rachel cried every night after that at 4:14 a.m., after what Quinn supposed was a nightmare. Quinn never knew how to bring it up, how could she when Rachel refused to be alone with her? She wanted to make peace with her wife so she could pull her back to land. Rachel was too far adrift; if she was to fall apart, Quinn's life would too be shattered. What she hadn't expected was that the idea of peace meant ignoring their problems.

Then the words came: "I've been selfish and wanting you here with me... Love isn't selfish. It's kind and gentle and bursting of life."

She was selfish. She wasn't gentle or kind. Their relationship was no longer bursting of life.

Quinn froze, those words sounded heavy, a deadening load. She was certain that Rachel was going to leave her. At the same time, hearing it made her feel light, weightless. She experienced a moment of relief; and, for an instant, that flashed by so quickly she barely registered it. There was a humming in her ear that was, she was sure of it, the sound of the universe spinning around and around, ready to fling both of them off into an orbit, one in which they either surrendered finally to each other or were forever flung apart.

Quinn thought about it then: _divorce_. It seemed to her the voice came from somewhere outside of herself, a woman's voice from a distance. She did not recognize it as within her own thoughts.

She hardly reflected on anything else Rachel had said.

She experienced a moment of panic, almost vertigo. Quinn was convinced she was going to die—the beat of her own heart seemed so tenuous, so irregular, her breath short, strained. Slowly, very slowly, she took in her surroundings. They occupied a strange world now in which the guest bedroom had been somehow set adrift from the real world. Again, she experienced a wave of weariness, a numbing heaviness to her neck and shoulders, to her very bones. This, finally, was love. This was its shape and essence, once the lust and ecstasy and danger and adventure had gone. Love, at its core, was negotiation, compromise, the surrender of two individuals to the messy, banal, domestic realities of sharing a life together.

"Quinn?"

She was wrong to have thought that all the accommodations, negotiations and challenges in their marriage had been met. Of course, there was accident, illness, tragedy; all that and more were still to come. Neither of those scared her. It was the thought that she wouldn't be with Rachel when she accepted her first Tony, she wouldn't be with Rachel when she signed a recording contract, she wouldn't be with Rachel to see her name in lights around the world; _that_ scared her—to not be mentioned in Rachel's acceptance speech, to not hold Rachel's hand when she signed the contract, to not be standing beside her wife when the world finally sees Rachel through her eyes: a beautiful, invigorating, talented five-foot-two human being.

"I want a divorce." Quinn said, her mouth dry. She hated the word. Whoever invented divorce should be shot.

You're doing this for Rachel. Rachel doesn't need _you_ right now, what she needs is to find herself again—is the voice of malice inside Quinn's head, drowning out all other voices. She clenched her jaw. She heard also—a sound from the real world—the clenching of her teeth. Quinn looked down and watched the way Rachel was stroking her open palms and she thought that small flames might flare out from her palm to the tips of Rachel's fingers, she felt such a burning love for the woman in front of her.

"We need a divorce. I can't do this. I can't live like this." The fury inside of her roared, the voice grew louder, more vicious. Her body crushed with a rattling sigh. Quinn rose, stained all over with her blood and weighed down by unbelieving eyes.

Rachel rubbed her eyes, smearing the salty tears across her face. "But I—I thought we were going to work things—"

"No. I can't. I don't want this."

"You couldn't have changed your mind in the span of five minutes. I must have said something to upset you. I didn't mean to." Rachel's expression was quizzical, unsmiling.

Quinn didn't answer straight away, just looked down at the floor, wishing and praying it would open up and suck her whole. She felt bereft, drained of energy. "You wanted this."

"Not a divorce. Possibly a temporary separation but—"

"You were thinking of divorce, you just didn't have the guts to say it."

"That's not true," Rachel tried to reach out to Quinn but she retreated further away. "It doesn't have to end like this."

"Why do you _care_?" Her eyes burned. A violent pang of sickness stabbed her. She longed for sweet kisses and warm nights, bright mornings and tender hugs. Something in Rachel's face shattered. Her every muscle coiled tight. "You said it yourself, you never thought how hard this was for me. Why do you care _now_?"

Rachel searched Quinn for signs of emotion, any emotion. She took great care not to disturb her, remaining still in her spot like a ten year old girl who had been naughty and was sent to sit in the corner thinking about what she had done. She didn't try to breathe too loud, afraid she might bring on some further chastisement. "I care about you, you know I do. I know I haven't made things easy, but I've been trying extremely hard..." She trailed off, lost for words.

Rachel couldn't know it, Quinn said to herself, but there was a war going on in her head. It was as if there was two of her. One wanted to scream and say all sorts of vicious things to push Rachel away in order for her to fulfill her dreams and not have the burden of being married to someone whom she doesn't remember falling in love with. Then the second part of her, the softer, loving part wanted to break down and cry, fall to her knees and beg Rachel to never leave her. Yes, the separation is fine, anything is better than a divorce.

The viciousness won. Her blood boiled inside her veins.

This wasn't Rachel's life. She stopped listening to music, she stopped singing, she stopped watching _Funny Girl_ and reading Barbra Streisand's biography every night. And Quinn knew it was because of her and her stubborn ways and the method she took to force herself back into Rachel's life. What Rachel needed first and foremost was music and singing and applause, and then, _then_ Quinn can have _her_ Rachel back. The voice sneered in her mind, Rachel doesn't need _you_. Not yet.

"Quinn, I don't know what to say..."

"Forget it," she sank down against the wall, forcing herself to remain there. "It's over." She fisted her hands to stop herself from shaking. It was a powerful thing she had just said. _Over_.

Rachel slumped her shoulders. The silence of heartbreak was there, somewhere underneath the tension waiting to be released. Their gaze met, memories of the past few weeks sizzling between them. For a moment it felt like they were two people in a world where pain and loss didn't exist, away from the real world. Grief and hunger burned at the back of Quinn's eyes. She was the first to break eye contact, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. _Jesus_, how bipolar was she? Maybe she was suffering from a mental illness. Schizophrenia? That would explain the voice in her head. She was suffocating again, her breath stifled as if the valves of her heart weren't closing and the blood was rushing back into her lungs. Leave, the voice said, get up and get out of the house. But she couldn't move her legs, and when she was finally able to force her eyes open, her heart stopped working.

Rachel had her face in her hands, her body shook with quiet, discreet tears. Quinn imagined that the love Rachel felt for her is so powerful that her heart was scalded with the overload of pain. She imagined that Rachel couldn't stand the thought of losing her, but the truth begins to dawn: It's finished.

_Finished_. Finished meant as if there was nothing more that the world could offer them.

Rachel sniffled, wiped at her tears and locked her eyes onto Quinn's. "I'm sorry I couldn't love you the way you wanted me to. I wish I could. I wish I could love you the way you loved me."

There it was again, Quinn thought. _Loved_. She didn't correct her this time.

She closed her eyes as tightly as she could as if by shutting out the image she could make everything go away, make it not have happened. She wanted to shut out the voice of that jeering, arrogant, hateful sneer: get up and leave, _say it _and leave. Quinn went cold, realizing she was about to change things, enter into unfamiliar and dangerous territory. She shivered, and counted to fifteen. She'd count to fifteen and hold her breath. Then she'd say it, _that_ word. That horrible word. She started to count. One, two...

Rachel looked at her with those same, sad eyes. "I hope that you'll be happy. I meant it when I said I wanted you to be happy,"

Eight, nine, ten...

"I'm sorry I put all this on you. I'm sorry for everything. I wish I could make this better, Quinn. Please believe that," Rachel's voice was in a panic.

Thirteen, fourteen.

It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. I _love_ you. I will _always_ love you.

Fifteen. The words rushed out. "Goodbye, Rachel."

The word slapped hard. It was the ugliest word and it did not have the privilege to be used in conjunction with Rachel's name.

Abruptly, she moved towards Rachel and pressed their lips together, kissing her hard with desperation. No chaste kiss of friendship, no sweetly romantic farewell. She kissed Rachel like a lover, deeply and thoroughly until she felt Rachel's body tremble.

Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion but also in an instant. Was this what was meant by relativity, quantum physics, all those ideas and calculations that were so hard to get your head around? It all seemed to happen so deliberately, as if the world's movements were all rehearsed and preordained, that it would be impossible to stop any of it. First, she heard knocks on the door and Santana and Brittany stood in the doorway. There were happy smiles when they witnessed the scene, but when Quinn broke the kiss they gasped in shock, witnessing her swollen, tear stained eyes. Then she began to run, her feet as light as air as she ran through the living room ignoring Hiram and Leroy's pleas, passed into the street and into the world.

Until she was sitting in a bar with Santana and Puck beside her, time ceased to be what she knew it was; it became impossible to comprehend. Time was both compressed and infinite, impossible to follow. Santana must have caught up to her, she must have wept in her best friend's arms in the middle of the street, must have struggled with her when she wanted Quinn to go home, or had Santana led her along an easier path into this bar to meet Puck? All she knew was that there was the street, the struggle, the confusion from her friends, the multiple questions, and then they were sitting in the corner of the bar, Santana had her arm around Quinn. She was still distraught, still weeping, holding her friend tighter than she had ever before. Quinn's sobs now came intermittently, with deep, shuddering breaths. Puck handed her a napkin and Quinn blew her nose and downed the remaining glass of whiskey in front of her.

She wiped her eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, surprised her. It was firm and controlled. "I'm alright now." She brushed her hand across her mouth.

"You don't have to do this, Quinn," Puck said and poured her another glass of whiskey when she slid her empty glass toward him. "You can get through this together. You don't need to get a divorce."

Her voice started to shake. Fearful that she might start crying again she quickly downed the whiskey. It assisted with her monologue and steadied her. "There's no way it could work."

"Yes, it can," Santana snatched the bottle out of Quinn's hand when she was about to pour herself a glass. "What good is a divorce going to do? You love her, nothing else matters."

"Her happiness matters."

"What about yours?"

"_I don't care_ about me!" She snapped, taking the bottle back from Santana. "If she's happy that's all that matters." Then regrettably she said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you." Santana shrugged like it hadn't affected her and waited for Quinn to continue. "She doesn't sing anymore, nor does she play any of her Broadway records. I miss her voice, I miss her smile and the way her eyes shine when she hits those notes because she _knows_ she's _that_ amazing."

"It's not because of you," Santana said.

"_It is_ because of me. I've been so focused on getting her to remember our past that that's all she's been doing lately. Her dads told me that while I was away she went through photo album after album and read letter after letter, even to the point that she didn't leave her room. I couldn't handle hearing it."

Santana smiled at her sympathetically. "It just means that she's trying."

"I want her to focus on Broadway and New York, that's her dream. Do you know how close she was to finally getting recognized by the world before the accident?" Quinn held up her thumb and index finger, making a gap of two inches. "_This_ close. Andrew Lloyd Webber was watching her the last night she performed _Avenue Q_ and went backstage to meet her personally, offering her the lead in _Evita_."

"I have no idea who that is," Puck said quietly, but Quinn heard him.

"He's the musical composer for _Evita," s_he answered. "Then after the accident she was so focused on me she stopped caring about her dreams."

"Did she know?" Santana asked.

Quinn nodded. "Her dads told her. I never asked her why but she just didn't seem to have given it much thought. From what they told me she was elated to have been offered the role, but dismissed it to concentrate on our relationship." Quinn pushed her glass aside and drank whiskey from the bottle instead. She drank constantly but did not feel drunk. "I can't watch her do that to herself."

Santana was the first to blink, to look away. "I still think you're making the biggest mistake of your life." She mumbled and Quinn believed her. It still hurt to hear it.

"It's only been a bit over two months, Quinn," Puck said. "You don't know that Rachel's going to continue to be the way she is. In a few weeks' time she would settle into the routine and maybe start singing again."

Quinn sniggered. "The Rachel Berry I knew would have begun singing the moment she learnt that her vocal chords and range was no longer as strong as it used to be. She would have practiced all day and night if she had to."

Santana sighed heavily and downed the remaining quarter of whiskey in one gulp. "What kind of best friend am I if I didn't get drunk with you?"

Puck got up to the bar and a few minutes later came back with a bottle of vodka and some lemon. A larger bottle this time. The Whiskey had been half the size. She breathed a sigh of relief and drank with her two friends until her anger dived back into the deep, straight under the waves, down to the depths. At times she smiled serenely at the jokes they told but it was void of any emotions. The live band played her favorite songs and it did nothing to lift her mood. She wondered if she'd ever be able to feel again.

Every time she thought of Rachel she'd count and see how long it would take for Rachel to dissipate toward the back of her mind. Brittany was at home with her and she refrained from asking Santana how Rachel was doing. This time she hit her longest number, twenty; breathing heavily, struggling to reach the magical number when she thought of Rachel no more, of her beauty and perfect profile. Twenty-five. She wanted to give up, go home, go back to Rachel. She took another shot and listened to Puck's drunken musings. When she reached thirty it felt as if no time had passed at all. She sucked deeply and the tepid warm air went into her lungs, her chest began to hurt. She refused to panic. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three.

Finn waltzed through the entrance. She might have been heavily intoxicated, but she could recognize his oafish natural appearance in any state. Quinn stood up so fast her head spun and she realized how much she had been drinking. For one moment she seemed uncertain, lost her composure and reached a hand to the back of the chair to steady herself. She straightened and looked directly at Finn who was laughing and tipping his drink towards the group of people he had come with. Quinn didn't think he had any friends.

"Q, what's wrong?" Puck asked standing up and tilting his head back and forth in hopes of recognizing anything familiar. He had had too much to drink by this point.

Santana, however, saw Finn the moment she stood up and swung back to look at Quinn. "Hey, it's alright. Finn doesn't know about you and Rachel, he's not gonna do anything."

Quinn loved Santana, she really did, but sometimes the girl's denseness irritated her. She would never admit it. Well, she had to Rachel several times. _Fuck_, there she appeared again. Time to count. One, two, three, four—Finn turned and saw her, first he was surprised, then scared and then smiled. He _smiled _at her. He looked from her to Santana to Puck, and his eyes rested back onto Quinn. Through the drunken madness that was happening inside her head and the blurriness in her eyes, she could see him walking towards them, his mouth was now opened and amazed.

"Hey guys," his voice cut through the blaring cheers and chatter. "How are you?"

"What are you doing here, Hudson?" Santana's voice sliced through.

"I hang out here sometimes," she had never heard him sound like this before, almost delirious. "How's Rachel?"

Quinn couldn't speak. She could not breathe. She fisted her shirt at the spot where her heart was and willed her body to stop shaking.

"Is she doing better since this afternoon?" His voice was triumphant.

"You saw her today?" Puck asked standing in front of Quinn.

"I've been seeing her for the past few days."

"Dude, not cool," Puck pushed him backwards and Finn stumbled. "You don't get to go near Rachel after what you did in high school."

Finn's next words lacerated Quinn. "Hey man, she forgave me."

"She _remembered_?" Quinn raised her voice so he could hear her and he nodded. No, she refused to believe it. She refused to believe that Rachel was that gullible and careless to forgive just like that. Four years they had not seen each other and Rachel had made no attempts to contact him. No, she wouldn't believe it. "You're lying. She wouldn't have remembered that and not anything else."

They were now facing each other like warriors in a video game. She felt Santana's hand on her arm ready to hold her back. "Like I said, Quinn, if she can't remember anything about you, maybe it's a sign." Finn said smuggly.

When the punch came it struck Finn like fire, made him stumble back onto the wall and a few people screamed. Quinn's eyes were dry and furious. Santana and Puck grabbed her back when she raised her hand again. Her hand stung, but it didn't really hurt, the actual violence was nothing. What hurt were his words. They would never go away.

•••

**January 21st, 2016**

On awakening the next morning, Quinn found that she had begun once again to feel. Her eyes opened and alert, she didn't know how long she had been sleeping for. She knew the time was 4:05 a.m. even though there was no clock beside her to tell her so. She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to prevent herself from coming apart at the seams. She was devastated and sickened at the pounding she felt in her heart. A flood of visions resurfaced—memories of Rachel that made her heart ache with such contradictory feelings, her chestnut hair, her impish smile and wide eyes that glimmered. Finn appeared in her mind and she was suddenly gripped with an unforgiving jealously; she was enraged. She waited for the sun to rise, all the time thinking of ways to murder Finn Hudson and get away with it.

When the sun began its ascent she stumbled to the bathroom, stripped and showered. The sharp bursts of cold water were a soothing delight and she let the water hit her face as she arched her neck and stared straight up to the showerhead. As she turned off the tap she was startled to hear what she thought was her mother's loud antics. She stepped out into the bedroom, with a towel wrapped around her and sure enough, Judy was standing with her arms on her hips and her eyes were flaring dangerously at Quinn.

"Lucy Quinn Fabray! How could _you_?!"

The full name, this wasn't good. She had just showered and washed the dirt off her, she didn't want to feel dirty again. She feared that if she didn't make the effort to pretend to listen to her mother, the woman was going to do worse than call her by her full name.

"What are thinking? A _divorce_? What is the matter with you?"

"Mom, please don't. My head hurts," Quinn didn't want any more confessions or apologies or revelations.

"Good, serves you right for drinking like a maniac," she caught the scorn in Judy's voice. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when Leroy called me last night to tell me what happened? And then I tried calling your cell and it was turned off only to find out at one in the morning that you punched Finn and passed out on Santana's bed."

Quinn didn't answer her, she was recalling the night and the images blended together like a thirty second movie. Judy was glaring at her, coiled, alive and ready to strike again. Quinn bit her lip; her impulse when Rachel appeared in her mind was to cry. Thankfully, this time the tears lasted a short moment. She had to forgo the risk of an unknown, most likely impossible, most probably unobtainable, alternative happiness. In this way, Rachel's happiness would be secured; she knew that for a fact. She couldn't take the risk, Rachel always came first. And anyway, she scolded to herself, only the young and deluded would think that Rachel was ever going to get her memories back.

"Oh, Quinn..." Judy guided Quinn toward the bed and they both sat down. She kissed her daughter's cheek and squeezed her knee. "You don't need a divorce. You can do this. You were so determined a few weeks ago."

"Things change, mom, people change, situations change. Just like _that_," she clicked her fingers. "I can't watch her give up her dreams for me."

"She doesn't have to,"

"It's better this way, please just leave it. I don't want to argue with you, I'm exhausted, mom."

The bedroom door was pushed slightly opened and Quinn thanked the heavens for sending Brittany to save her from the frightening torture of the lecture Judy was no doubt preparing. Brittany wheeled Quinn's luggage into the room, she looked tired, her lips were trembling. Gone was the cheerful Brittany she long knew since childhood. The Brittany standing before her had a darkening feature that rose on her face.

Her eyes swept around the room and then took in Quinn's appearance. Her face was white, glazed with shock, but she said nothing except, "I bought your stuff over for you. We're having breakfast downstairs, you should join us. Santana made her famous bacon and eggs."

Judy kissed Quinn on the forehead and said, "I'll let you get dressed."

They left the room together and she was left alone once again. All her nightmares were coming to pass. Every one.

Rachel. She lost her.

She pulled herself upright, stood swaying a moment. Her stomach a mass of fire. Joints on her fingers grating like they'd been filled with hot sand. They were swollen and bruised. She must have punched Finn extremely hard. She had been worse after the accident, this time it was only her hand. At least her feet could still carry her. The process of putting on her bra and underwear, t-shirt and jeans seemed like a journey. She had to stop a few times to steady herself and when she picked herself up everything became unbearable, she stumbled on nonetheless and walked down the stairs to see four pairs of sad eyes quickly being averted elsewhere. She hated it.

Puck pulled out a chair for her and Brittany bought her a cup of coffee and Santana placed a dish of bacon in front of her and Judy examined her hand. Quinn could feel the rage banking, she didn't want to feel pitied, but shut her mind from it. In the frozen agony over Rachel, Quinn felt a sliver of regret for the way she spoke to Judy. She had been there for Quinn the day she came out to her and supported her relationship with Rachel from the very beginning. Time and time again Judy had talked some sense into her whenever she and Rachel had an argument over the difficulties of being in a long distance relationship. If it weren't for her mother, there was no doubt her relationship with Rachel would have ended sooner. Much sooner.

"Any plans for the rest of the day, Quinn?" The sound was distant, she couldn't be sure who said it.

She bit back her tongue to stop from asking about Rachel. How was she doing? Did she sleep at all? Does she miss me? Did she have a nightmare again? She bit down so hard she could slightly taste the bitterness of blood. All she could focus on was the fury that was rising within her, spade by patient spade of dark grave-earth. It unfolded itself, stretched, yawned as if it had been asleep for so long. Then it settled down and Quinn heard herself say,

"I'm going back to New York to find a divorce lawyer."

•••

**September 24th, 2011**

Quinn couldn't begin to describe the way her lungs jolted into motion the moment she saw Rachel sitting at the bus stop. She sucked in a breath and nearly jumped on her feet to race up and wrap the tiny girl in her arms. A tumble of incoherent endearments were running through her mind, all the things she wished were clever enough to properly say. Rachel looked a little startled, her lips opened in surprise, her dark eyes wide and Quinn felt her breath go again, her entire system rushing about insanely, bouncing off the inside of her skin. Her future, although impossible to predict, she knew Rachel would be in it. She would be in it forever.

Rachel bit her lip and smiled at her softly, and without another thought she picked up her speed and sat beside her on the bench, feeling almost relieved. Rachel shifted over to give her some room and she caught the faint scent of daisies and felt dizzy. Those full lips of hers curved sensuously, and Quinn had the sudden urge to lean in and nibble them. They hadn't spoken since yesterday after Rachel had serenaded her in glee, because according to Rachel—_"I believe it's beneficial to our newly formed romantic relationship to not talk to each other until tomorrow as this will signify the beginning of a new era"—_and Quinn fought every nerve and muscle in her body to refrain from calling or sending her a text.

All night, Rachel was her only thought, her singular obsession.

She stole a quick glance at the girl next to her, her gaze locking on those lips. They were pink and lush. Just like Rachel. Quinn had never thought about kissing a woman before, let alone the thought of kissing Rachel Berry, but the image wouldn't stop flashing through her mind. Kissing Rachel would be tender and silky. Hot. Perfect. Utterly perfect.

Quinn's heart hammered at the sound of Rachel's voice. "We should play a game,"

"Okay...?" She arched her eyebrow. "What kind?"

"A question game I created—"

"Just now?"

"—known as The Berry-Fabray Question game."

"Why does your name have to go first?"

"Because I created it."

Shifting to the side, Quinn allowed herself to take in the rest of Rachel. The way she saw Rachel now compared to a few weeks ago still surprised her. The girl had somehow transformed herself to look like a heavenly cherub, a perfect creation. Her eyes were like gemstones, glittering at the bottom of the deep blue sea. Or perhaps, that was just the way Quinn now saw her.

Quinn fought to keep her expression neutral, to keep from scowling. "That doesn't seem fair. If you had given me notice I would've come up with a game myself."

There was a sizzling pause, a suspended moment between the escalating tension where Quinn was one hundred percent sure she wanted to take Rachel right there and then. Rachel was challenging her in the most sexiest way possible. "What game would you have come up with, Quinn?"

"It's called the Fabray-Berry Question game."

Frowning, Rachel stomped her foot and pouted. The unexpected action praised shock within Quinn. Her heart actually skipped a beat.

"You're mean," Rachel's cheeks flushed, a flash of amusement played on the corner of her lips when she turned away from Quinn. Her back and shoulders were stiff.

Quinn shivered when she placed her hand on top of Rachel's, she tried to halt the new flicker of an unknown sensation within her. "We're gonna argue about this until the cows come home. Let's just call it the Faberry Question game."

An unreadable emotion glimmered in those chocolate eyes, and Quinn wondered what Rachel was feeling. Admiration? She wished. Doubt? Spot on. "I don't like it."

"What's wrong with Faberry?"

"The _Fa_ comes first. Why can't it be Quinchel? Oh, wait," her cheeks rose in color and she mumbled to herself. "Quinn also comes before Rachel. Berray just sounds bizarre. Rachquinn doesn't sound pleasing either. This is unfair. You have a better name than me."

Quinn laughed, she just couldn't help herself. An unwanted wave of need and desire crested inside her, growing hotter. It didn't help that Rachel was so utterly adorable. Without a thought she squeezed Rachel's hand and wriggled closer, craving deeper contact.

"Just ask me a question, Berry," she couldn't have elevated a calm, cool, mask if her life depended on it. "What I meant is, _Rachel_, this is going nowhere. So let's play the game." She immediately relaxed when Rachel smiled. She had a desire to always see Rachel smile like that.

"Alright, I'll go first," Rachel said confidently. "Why did you want to accompany me to the book depository so early in the morning?"

"_What_?" Quinn was strangely amused.

"You texted me at approximately six-seventeen this morning asking what I was doing and I replied stating that I was currently at the bus station and you said you wanted to meet me."

"You're going to the library?" She interrupted before Rachel could finish. "_That's_ why you're up so early? I didn't even know libraries opened up this early."

"I've missed two busses waiting for you _and_ you're avoiding my question."

Stunned, Quinn blinked several times. This was Rachel Berry in all her glory. And wasn't that a funny realization? A year ago she would not have thought she'd be sitting at a bus stop, holding Rachel Berry's hand and thinking to herself, My god, if you keep talking to me like that I'm going to rip off your clothes and demand I be taken right here. "Why did you say book depository instead of library?"

"I believe it's not my duty to answer your question as you have yet to answer mine,"

She gently brushed aside wisps of hair sticking on Rachel's temples. "I missed you."

Rachel's eyelids fluttered open and she stilled completely, suddenly realizing that Quinn was right in front of her. "I missed you, too."

The bus chose that moment to screech to a halt only a few feet in front of them. The door swung open and the driver eyed them curiously, probably wondering why two girls were awake so early in the morning. Her head still whirled at hearing Rachel's declaration that she missed her, she felt the heat of Rachel's clasped hand against hers and sucked in a breath. Her desire for this girl increased as each second ticked by, her daisy scent wafted her.

"I have to borrow some books," Rachel said and Quinn was bought back to reality. "I answered your question. My turn again."

"Oh, no you don't," Quinn argued. "That wasn't my question. My question was why do you call it the book depository."

"It is the book depository,"

"It's a _library_." Quinn made sure to emphasize the word.

"You say to–_may–_to, I say to–_mah–_to. It's the same."

"I don't say to–_may–_to, and it's not the same thing. You don't deposit the books, you _take_ the books. If you want to call it something else, it should be the book withdrawal."

Rachel sniggered and Quinn saw something tick in her jawline. "Withdrawal means you _keep _it, while—"

"I know the meaning of those words, Rach,"

Rachel ignored her. "_Deposit_ means the book is being held until a convenient time for one to acquire it. Book withdrawal is a ridiculous name."

"And book depository isn't?"

"Must you judge me on my vocabulary?"

"I'm not judging you," she corrected and shifted to a more comfortable sitting position. "I was just curious. I mean, there are six syllables in book depository, while library only has three. If you had said library instead, you'd be saving three syllables to say something else."

"And you have wasted many syllables in trying to justify the reason why _I_ should be saying library, when you could tell me how unique and amazing I am instead."

The muscles in Quinn's back jumped at the sight of Rachel's teasing grin. How is it that she made everything seem so sexy? Her entire face bloomed red—in embarrassment at the thought. She studied Rachel's hand that was now intertwined beneath hers, her breath suspended. Rachel's casual chatter the only thing that kept her from connecting their lips together.

"When we first spoke you said you were in Colorado. Was that a lie?" Quinn asked.

"No," she answered almost instantly. "That was true."

"But I heard from everyone that you were on a secluded trip in the wild with no technology,"

"Well, that was the intention. Daddy, though, couldn't handle not using his cellphone because he recently discovered the marvellousness that is the iPhone and he couldn't part with it," Rachel explained. "So we drove home to retrieve our gadgets and went up to my grandmother's cabin in Colorado instead."

Funny, Quinn thought suddenly, they had both spent time with their grandmothers during the summer. Another question popped into her head and she asked, "Why didn't you tell anyone you had a tumblr?"

Rachel shrugged and stared out the window. "It was my own, I guess. The kids at school already write vicious things on my MySpace, I didn't want them to do the same with my tumblr."

Quinn convulsed and she thought she was going to vomit, she internally gagged a few times and then her body went numb. What she did feel was Rachel's hand stroking along her arm and it was an astonishing peace, an awareness of the complex structure of light and sound. "I'm so sorry I ever did that to you."

"I forgive you, Quinn." She said.

The words, when it finally reached her ears, was the sound of clarity and an understanding. It sounded like Christmas morning.

They continued with the game as the bus took off heading north. It was a bright fall day and the foliage was in full glory. It was a day in which hope, a day in which to begin a new life. When the bus stopped, Rachel pulled Quinn up on her feet and they made their little trek through the quiet streets toward the _book depository_. Quinn silently laughed to herself. She was never going to get over that.

"What's wrong with the school library?" Quinn asked. They walked up the steps and she led Rachel through the large revolving doors. "It's convenient, closer, _and_ there's no need to catch the bus."

"Have you ever browsed through the books at school?"

"Of course, I have,"

"Then you must be aware that they don't offer a wide variety of fiction that is satisfying enough to my taste,"

Oh, this was going to be fun. "_Your_ taste?"

"Certainly." Rachel led them to the non-fiction and reference section and began scanning for her books. "The variety of books located at the school library is for immature, infantile high school citizens. I, however, am neither of those."

"And I'm one of those?" Quinn asked suspiciously.

"I said no such thing. Honestly, Quinn, if we are to date you have to listen to me."

She continued to watch Rachel run her finger along the side of the books. Rachel must have noticed because her cheeks tinged a light pink and when she picked out a book she slid it out of its slot in what Quinn found was the most provocative action she had ever seen thus far. Suddenly, she wanted Rachel to run _that_ finger along her body. She cleared her throat and tried to control herself. "It still doesn't make sense why you're here so early."

"It's a lot more effort to come here in the afternoon, considering I have homework and glee and other extracurricular activities that need attention and in this way I'm able to achieve everything in one day."

Silence settled around them for a few minutes before a man appeared behind one of the book shelves like he had been guarding it. He strode stealthily toward them. He wore a black t-shirt, the same inky color as his chopped hair and form-fitting jeans. Simply standing beside Rachel, he exuded a masculine intensity that had Quinn's body going still, instantly on guard.

"Hey, Rachel. I found this for you." He handed her a notebook and she beamed. Quinn's eyes narrowed. She didn't like the way he said her name.

"Thank you, Luke. Where did you find it?"

Quinn didn't look thrilled that someone else had given Rachel something and made her eyes beam like that either.

"At the market the other day and I thought of you. You should read it next week."

Rachel smiled so proudly that the tension in Quinn's body instantly melted. Only for a few heart beats until she heard him say, "Who's your friend?"

Quinn hurriedly glanced down at their still joint hands. There was no way he could have not noticed it; he wanted a confirmation that he wasn't seeing things, a confirmation that they were _friends_. It made her feel queasy watching someone else trying to hit on her... girlfriend(?). Rachel definitely wasn't a friend, that was one thing she was sure of. You definitely don't hold your friend's hand and think about intimate and seductive things you wished you could do to her. Her throat began to tighten, her face screwed tightly, she bit down on her lower lip and glared at him.

"Quinn, this is Luke," Rachel introduced. "He works here."

"Nice to meet you," he said.

"Hey," Quinn said in as controlled a voice as possible. When she looked down at Rachel's soft eyes, the sight of it held her emotions into place. "What's that?" She gestured to the book in Rachel's hand.

She held it up for Quinn to read the title: Totem by Luke Davies. "It's a book of poetry. I read it every Thursday night to the elderly." Rachel stepped closer to her and she felt a headache coming on from the blood rush. "Well, not this particular book, that would bore them. But I read to them each week and since this week I had finished the previous book, Luke suggested I read poetry this time instead of a story."

"This was why you had to rush home yesterday after we talked at school." Rachel nodded and Quinn said, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked," she smiled, her lips parted and her eyes alight. "The elderly love me here."

Not only was Rachel adorable, talented, delightful, energizing, heart-stoppingly beautiful, she had to be _nice_. No, nice wasn't the correct word. Gentle, gracious, friendly. She was the epitome of perfection. Like Quinn didn't have enough to deal with already.

"Well, I'll see you later." Luke broke the momentum and Quinn wanted to kick him.

Rachel smiled her gratitude at him and her face changed to warm baby doll, and when she turned back to Quinn there was a flirtatious glint in her eyes. They lingered on her for a moment and they were eyes she wanted to stare into forever. There was a part of herself that came alive, this part had been asleep, kept dormant, kept in storage on some back shelf of her heart. Rachel's lingering glint bought it out from the shadows. _This one_, was the only thought racing through her mind.

"We should get to school. The bus should be here any minute. I can't find the book I was searching for, anyway." Rachel put the notebook Luke had given her in her bag, breaking the contact of their fingers and Quinn didn't have the time to miss the contact because in what seemed like a millisecond, Rachel intertwined them again. "I have a good question," she asked as they made their way outside. "The first time we spoke on the internet, why did you tell me about Beth?"

Quinn retreated into her own thoughts, reaching back through time to find the memory, and then she shrugged. "You asked me to talk you about myself."

"Yes, but I meant your interests,"

"I guess," she paused. She hadn't realized she had done it. "I don't know. I felt like I could talk to you."

"Well, now you can tell me your interests."

"It's not your turn to ask the question."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Do you have a question, Quinn?" When Quinn didn't answer she said, "I thought not."

"You didn't even give me an appropriate amount of time to think."

Rachel looked at her watch as she said, "Fine. You have one minute."

"That's not an appropriate amount of time."

"I can think of lots of questions in one minute."

"You just want me to answer the question, don't you?"

"Yes, because you're not going to win this argument, Quinn, and it would save us—especially me—the breath and effort that I will no doubt put into it in order to win." There was that flirtatious glint again, and Quinn thought, oh hell, here we go again with the blood rush.

Quinn sighed and gave up. "Well, my favorite movie has to be Almost Famous, I also like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Umm, I like all types of music, I don't really think I have a favorite. I do like Edward Sharpe."

"You don't enjoy show tunes,"

"Will you just let me finish, woman?" Rachel looked as if she wanted to argue but settled for a pout instead. "I like to read. I like all types of food, especially bacon."

The bus came just as they arrived and from what she saw, the bus was filled. She let Rachel go through first and they wriggled through the crowd and stood in front of a kid who had his headphones in his ears and staring out the window. Rachel reached for the top bar to steady herself but she was too short that her arm was stretched straight. Quinn tried not to laugh but Rachel saw the amusement in her eyes. When the bus made its way through the neighborhood, Rachel stumbled backwards a few times because she couldn't hold on strong enough and when Quinn couldn't handle it anymore she looped her arm around the shorter girl's waist, helping her stand. Rachel's breath fanned her neck, her cheek. Everywhere her skin touched the smooth of Rachel's it acted as a live wire, singeing her, making her ache—not in pain, but in lust. She had trouble drawing in a breath, but when she did, she inhaled the lusciousness of Rachel's scent. Daisies.

She was floating. On a high.

"We're here." Rachel's voice seemed to drift from a dream, surreal and remote.

Rachel had emitted a kind of heat far different from anything she had ever encountered before. Quinn couldn't concentrate on anything except the warmth that had seeped into her, as soothing and gentle as a lullaby. Seconds passed. Maybe minutes. She didn't know, didn't care. Time had long since become immeasurable.

"Quinn, are you okay?"

She sucked in a breath and exhaled deeply. "Yeah?"

"Are you asking or answering?"

"Umm, what did you ask me?"

Rachel's face shimmered just beyond her consciousness. The events of the past few minutes played out. They got off the bus. Walked the short trek to the school. They were now at Rachel's locker. Is this what love felt like? Whisking from cloud to cloud?

"I asked if you're okay."

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Rachel shrugged and retrieved her books. "You've been rather quiet since the bus."

She stood still trying to calm her racing heartbeat. She took in the rest of her surroundings, the chatter and laughter from students around them. The calmness that was lit inside of her was quickly extinguished by sparks of panic. "Rach, it's not because of what happened on the bus. I'm not ashamed of being with you in public. Please, don't think it's because of you."

Rachel closed her locker lightly and faced Quinn. "I know."

"Are you sure? Judging from your tone it's like you're annoyed at me."

"I am annoyed at you," she started walking and Quinn followed next to her, hands in her pockets to stop from touching Rachel. "I had to talk to myself because _someone_ refused to talk to me. What did you think I was annoyed with?"

On a wave of relief her shoulders sagged. "Oh, nothing." However, Rachel smiled at her and she knew they were recalling the same memory.

Even the thought of having Rachel that close to her again made her sweat, the world buzzed. An electric current flowed through her whole body, and she was thrust into a new world: light seemed to dance all around her, brighter than she had ever known. Her body was singing, her mind alert, her heart racing, her mood joyous, ecstatic.

Rachel tugged her into their classroom and she was once again flown back to reality. She was about to make her way to her usual seat when Rachel's hand on her arm stopped her again. "Where are you going?"

She raised a curious eyebrow and pointed to her usual seat. "To sit down."

"Don't you want to sit next to me?"

She glanced around the room nervously. Slowly, the students were making their descent and eyed them suspiciously. "But you sit at the front,"

"Please," she whined and Quinn knew she was going to say yes no matter what her brain told her to. "You can't let me sit next to Bob, he smells."

"You've been sitting next to him since school started."

"Yes, that was before _you_ came along."

Defeated, she slumped into the seat. Who was she kidding? She hadn't put up much of a battle. And then Rachel said, "You sit on the right side, Quinn."

"Are you kidding me?" She scowled. "First you want me to sit at the front and I _do_, now you tell me I have to sit on the right side. What is wrong with you?"

"That's my seat," she glared down at Quinn. "It's perfectly proportionate to the blackboard, the lighting and if there is ever to be a murder or an attack, it's the closest to the window. My safety's guaranteed because I'll be the first to escape."

"What about my safety?"

"Quinn," her voice was stern and Quinn's stomach instantly clenched. It wasn't fear, it was desire. Rachel looked so passionately intense when she's angry. "Move."

This time, Quinn held her position. "No." She took out her History book and pens and layered them neatly on the desk. Rachel's eyes flared a dark, hotness. "Look at it this way, Rach, if there's ever a murder or an attack, I'll be protected and therefore I can protect _you_."

She learnt one thing: sweet words and chivalrousness did not work on Rachel Berry when she was enraged. In fact, it had no effect on her. In spite of that, Rachel reluctantly fell to the seat beside her as the teacher walked in and sat as far away from Quinn as she could. Quinn only slid her chair closer until Rachel had no more space, and when Quinn lightly caressed her hand on Rachel's arm, the girl snatched it away. That, however, didn't stop her from touching Rachel whenever she had the chance.

"Alright, let's try a new era," Mrs. Oliver swung around to ask a girl sitting behind Quinn. "During the Renaissance, what would students your age be doing? Well? Any idea at all? Any guesses?"

Quinn wondered why she ever bothered to take this class. She turned around and saw Amy swallowing hard. With a weak smile she said, "Playing football?"

At the ensuing laughter, the teacher's face darkened. "Hardly!" She snapped, and the classroom quieted. "In those days, students your age would have mastered logic, mathematics, astronomy, philosophy and grammar. Football would be the last thing on—"

"Excuse me," everyone turned to stare at Rachel. Her quiet voice had stopped the teacher mid-range. "But you're wrong. Students in the Renaissance were encouraged to participate in games."

"What? What did you say?"

Rachel straightened herself up in her chair. "They were taught that a healthy body goes with a healthy mind. And they certainly played team sports, like cricket, tennis—and even football. But the most important thing they learnt were good manners and courtesy."

"Where did you read that?" The teacher snapped.

"Right here." Rachel pointed to the highlighted paragraph in her text book and Quinn watched the way the teacher's face slowly turned bright red and she was spluttering. "So, Mrs. Oliver, Amy was right."

Mrs. Oliver opened her mouth to say something but was saved by the bell. Everyone quickly gathered their books and belongings and Quinn heard Amy thank Rachel gratefully before she left the room. Quinn realized she forgot to add _intelligent_ to the list of words that described Rachel Berry. Yeah, she was definitely the epitome of perfection. And she was Quinn's perfection.

•••

**October 3rd, 2011**

Quinn wondered whether she was kissable.

Of course, there wasn't exactly anyone she could ask. Her high school romances consisted of three boys, she silently counted them as she listened to her friends chatter amongst each other in the cafeteria. Finn, tall, good-natured, dubious. The only good thing to come out from dating Finn was that he raised her popularity. Puck, she did not find his masculine evasiveness endearing or masochistically romantic and when he got her pregnant it had broken her, led her to step into the shadows in annihilation. Even so, she couldn't deny the sensation of holding Beth in her arms for the first time, her cornflower light eyes, Quinn's hair, hair that curled like her's did at the end. Then there was Sam, he was attractive, virile and confident. They also looked pretty good together and she found that he was important for her popularity.

Finn, Puck, Sam. Three _boys_. The only thing they had in common was that they were all popular, tall, good-looking and she had kissed two of them by the time the second date rolled around (Puck doesn't count).

The pattern broke at Rachel. Therefore, she wondered whether she was kissable. Then again, she laughed to herself, she had been Head Cheerio, everyone wanted to kiss her.

Except maybe Rachel. Because the girl had yet to make any attempts to do _just_ that.

They had been together for nine days. Or was it ten? No, it was definitely nine. She hoped so. If Rachel ever knew that she hadn't remembered how long they had been together for she wouldn't hear the end of it. They talked—_a lot—_each night before bed, usually ending with one or both falling asleep on the phone. They had grown accustomed to it; they _needed_ to talk to each other in order for them to fall asleep. They agreed to take things slow but Quinn had never thought it would be _this_ slow. She found herself staring more and more at Rachel's lips every day, and at times she just wanted to push her against a wall, a tree, the ground, the table, and just capture those curved, soft lips. Quinn even thought they were teasing her, saying, I know you want me, Quinn.

Rachel stretched her long legs under the table, eating at her personal space and she reverted from her daydream to the present. She sat across from Quinn, no part of their bodies touching. Still, Quinn felt the heat of her. Rachel constantly did something to her inner balance. Lately, it's just been constantly distracted. Quinn watched her lick her lower lip, her dark eyes met the hazel ones across from her for a long, hot, dark moment, the flirtatious glint was there once again and sound faded to silence and every nerve in Quinn's body came alive and she said, _this one_.

"Rachel, don't forget we're going shopping this afternoon." Kurt said and Rachel relaxed as she tore her eyes away from Quinn.

"What?" Rachel said, blinking those dark eyes at him. "Did we make plans?"

"Of course, we did," he bit on his carrot and eyed her suspiciously. Then he turned to look at Quinn and his mouth flew open. "Oh, if you're not free it's okay. We can do it another day."

She hated when Kurt looked at her with such _knowing_, as if all they did together was rip each other's clothes off and kissed into a delicious heat. At least someone thought that was all they did, because those kind of situations only happened in Quinn's mind.

Rachel was flipping through her daily planner and wasn't paying attention. "No, no, we did make plans. I wrote it right here," she slid the book across the table over to Mercedes—who was sitting beside Quinn—and added, in a not so subtle voice, "See, we have plans. So I'm sorry, Mercedes, but I won't be able to see you today."

Quinn rolled her eyes. She knew that Rachel's last sentence was directed at her because _they_ had made plans and this was Rachel's way of telling her so. Kurt must have noticed as well because he too, rolled his eyes. Another easier, less obvious way would have been to send a text.

"Were we supposed to see each other today?" Mercedes asked, confused written over her face. "I don't remember making plans."

Rachel stretched across the table to grab her daily planner. "Well, never mind then. I shall call you when I'm done shopping."

"Huh?" She looked around the table and everyone shrugged. "You're going to call me? For _what_?"

Sue Sylvester's voice rumbled through the speakers, "Quinn Fabray, see me in my office. Now!"

On one hand Quinn felt relieved because it acted as a balm. She was extremely close to kicking Rachel under the table so that she would stop talking before she spilled any more details about their relationship. On the other hand, it was unexpected and frightening.

She sneaked one quick glance at Rachel who appeared to be as frightened as she was. Quinn reassured her with a soft smile and made her way from the cafeteria to Sue Sylvester's office. The short distance seemed substantially longer than it was supposed to. The noise and clamor of the cafeteria had fallen away; all that existed was the sound of her shoes tapping on the floor. She breathed in and out deeply before pushing the door open and was greeted by Becky, but she saw Sue doing slow walks on the elliptical through the glass door.

"Uh, hi Becky, Miss Sylvester wanted to see me?"

"Hold on," Becky pressed a button on her earpiece and said, "Coach, your twelve-thirty-five appointment is here."

Quinn had no idea she had an appointment.

"She said to sit down and wait."

Before Quinn could sit, Sue opened the glass door and ushered her in. They sat opposite each other, Sue in her chair as if she were high above everyone else, not because of any elegance or sophistication or style. She just had a powerful personality. "Let me cut straight to be point, Q."

Quinn was trembling in her position.

"My team is lacking. Do you see this," she threw Quinn a copy of _Time_ magazine. There was a picture of Sue's smiling face on the cover. It was more like a sneer than anything. But that was not what made her gasp, it was the fact that Sue had obviously made this herself. It was a few pieces of paper stabled together to make it appear like a magazine. "I was on the cover of _Time_. Best coach in the country, it said. You can keep that, I have plenty." She took a sip from her health-shake and leaned her arms on the table. "I gave you a chance to come back on my team, Quinn, and you failed to achieve it. But I like you. I like your determination to win and to be the best, just like me, the only difference is I'm already the best. So here."

She handed a box over the table and Quinn opened it to see the Cheerio's uniform in plain sight. She slid her hand over the soft fabric. Her body tightened as a shock ran through her, "Coach, I never said I wanted to be back on the Cheerios."

"Ridiculous, Q! I heard from Jacob you wanted back on."

"I don't remember ever saying that. Brittany told me you wanted me back on, and I'm flattered but—" But _what_? Quinn thought. She hadn't thought about the Cheerios since Rachel came along.

"Who doesn't want to be on the Cheerios? It's the highest position in the school, it makes you the best."

I'd rather kiss my girlfriend(?) and then just like that, Rachel's lips teased her again. She pushed the thought deep, deep into the back of her mind.

"See you at practice this afternoon. Now, take your stench out of my office."

"I didn't—"

"Now," she pointed to the door with a stern look. "I have some daytime television to catch up on."

Sighing heavily, she went to her locker and twirled the combination and placed her books inside. She was stunned and somehow not. How like Sue Sylvester to do this, without a word of warning. She had been on the Cheerios, and then she wasn't and now she was back again. The electric hum of the school slowly dissipated as students made their way to their next classes, she drifted toward the bathroom and gingerly stepped into her uniform. It fit perfectly as it always had, a tingling softness ran through her body. She felt wonderful, like a movie star, older and sophisticated. This uniform did something to a girl. Then, instead of walking to her next class, she made her way to the auditorium where she knew Rachel would be.

Rachel was playing a few keys on the piano, then she would stop every few seconds to write down the note and what Quinn guessed, another lyric. Quinn stared, mesmerized at her back. Rachel's living presence beat against her skin like sunlight against closed eyelids. Quinn roused and forced herself to step closer, keeping her eyes down as she walked, feeling almost shy. But when she heard Rachel's hard in-drawn breath, she looked up quickly—and felt her heart go cold. Rachel was staring at her in wonder, yes, but it was not the wondering joy she was hoping for. There was something closer to shock.

"You don't like it," Quinn whispered, horrified at the stinging in those brown eyes.

Rachel recovered swiftly, as always, blinking and shaking her head. "No, no, you look wonderful. I just wasn't expecting this."

Quinn sat next to her so close their thighs were touching and she stopped breathing. God, Rachel made her stop breathing a lot. "Coach gave it to me. I'm back on the team,"

"I'm happy you're happy."

Her eyes moved over Rachel's face searching for any tell-tale signs of change. Was that tanned skin a little paler? Was her expression slightly remote? "Rach, nothing's going to change between us. I promise."

Rachel broke the gaze and ran her hand along the ivory keys, her voice a little more enthusiastic. "Don't you have class?"

Quinn shrugged like it was nothing. "Yeah, but I wanted to see you,"

"I don't condone truanting. Education is extremely important,"

"It's only one class, Rach. Calm down."

"Who knows what you would be missing out in that one hour."

"Oh yeah," Quinn rolled her eyes. "Fractions, variables, derivatives. I'm really gonna need all that in five years' time,"

"You'll need it for your finals."

Quinn ignored her and eyed the piano sheet in front of them. "Are you writing a new song?"

Rachel grunted at Quinn's lack of concern for her education, nonetheless answering her question. "Kind of. I was just bored."

"I know how to play a song."

Rachel beamed. "Play it?"

Quinn played the first five keys and grinned widely when she heard Rachel gasp. "That is not a song, Quinn."

"It is, too."

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star is a _nursery rhyme_."

"I can still play it."

"It doesn't count."

"You're just jealous you don't know how to play it."

Rachel crossed her arms and turned her head away. "You did that to provoke me."

Quinn spread her fingers over Rachel's thighs, her cheeks warmed to a shade of pink. Rachel's mouth was slightly opened in surprise but she didn't pull away. Good, she had Rachel's attention. It was time to kiss her. To preserve her sanity, she stopped her mind from concentrating on dangerous territory such as getting Rachel naked and having her on this piano. It was just a kiss, she had kissed plenty of people before. Okay, only three. And neither of them she wanted as much as she wanted Rachel at this moment. She was screwed. She had no experience at all in this department.

Rachel's daisy fragrance flowed from her, surrounding them as surely as trees, billowing sweetly in the wind. Quinn didn't feel the blood rush this time, she was slightly getting used to it. This was it. Those brown misty eyes held hers—she could not look away from them. They filled her vision as she leaned closer, and she noticed Rachel lifting her head. Quinn felt her own eyes half close, losing focus. She felt her head tilt forward, her lips part. Rachel's breath was warm, and then it got hot, much hotter and then—

Quinn whipped her head to the side. She felt as if she just pulled herself back from the edge of a precipice. Damn it, why did she not turn her phone off?

"Hello?" She answered grumpily. Rachel shifted away from her and she felt the loss of that warmth. "What do you want, Santana?"

"Whoa, hold up, grumpy pants. What's up your ass?"

Rachel gathered her things and Quinn was instantly sprung into a panic. "Rach, wait."

"What?" Came Santana's voice. "Who are you with?"

Rachel swung her backpack over her shoulder and Quinn stood up, she ignored Santana's screams on the phone and tried to grab onto Rachel's arm but the girl wriggled herself free and mouthed, I'll talk to you later, and disappeared behind the curtains like a puff of smoke.

She slumped herself onto the seat and held the phone against her ear. "...Avoiding me? Why aren't you talking? Stupid phone, what is wrong with this thing? Hey, are you there? Helloooo, Quinn? Quinn? Quinn?"

"God, I hate you right now." Quinn shut off her phone and continued on with the rest of the day, settling into a melancholy mood that only became worse with time.

* * *

><p><strong>I just want to add that this story will definitely, absolutely, 100% end with a happy ending. A lot of you have been quite worried so I just want to clarify that! Thanks for all the reviews!<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

_I'll sing it one last time for you, then we really have to go  
>You've been the only thing that's right, in all I've done<br>To think I might not see those eyes  
>Makes it so hard not to cry<br>And as we say our long goodbyes  
>I nearly do<em>

—Snow Patrol: Run

•••

**January, 21st, 2016**

The first night she performed _Avenue Q_ was Rachel's biggest accomplishment of the year 2014. She had been terribly disappointed to learn that opening night clashed on her grandmother's birthday and her fathers' had booked their tickets and dinner plans months in advance and weren't able to see her perform. On top of that, her girlfriend of three years had a mid-term which also caused her to cease attendance. When she took to the stage, she saw Quinn sitting there, looking up at her with such an expression of pride and delight. She felt a rush of happiness such as she'd seldom known before because Quinn had come all the way from New Haven after staying up all night studying for her mid-terms, and her final exam was only two hours before Rachel's opening night. Quinn finished her exam in lightning speed in order to drive the seventy-point-eighty-three miles to see her.

"Did you really think I wouldn't come?" Quinn teased when they drove home that night, after the spectacular stage performance she had given. "Nothing could've kept me away, not even some stupid exam."

Rachel wanted to tell Quinn to pull over so she could devour her. That was when she realized that she could never stop falling in love with Quinn, she would never stop slipping and sliding down into that tunnel of affection, the walls of which were greased with sympathetic words, loving phrases and touches, soft, compassionate eyes, and hopeful promises.

She did devour Quinn that night; passionate and demanding. Rachel couldn't remember the last time it had been so intense and exciting as that moment, perhaps because it was the first time in four weeks they had been together like this due to all the stress of college, mid-terms and rehearsals. It was wonderful and bought tears of happiness to her eyes, tears Quinn eagerly kissed away. Over and over they reached an ecstasy from only the truest, deepest passion. After it was over, they laid in each other's arms, satisfied and spent, like two small boats caught in a hurricane after they've come home to harbor.

For hours she laid watching Quinn's sleeping figure, and finally when she was able to drift off she reached a state of trouble unconsciousness rather than the peaceful oblivion she had so desperately sought. She saw herself hanging from the edge of a sharp cliff, dangling hopelessly above the darkness. The jagged edges of the rock to which she clung cut painfully into her fingers until she had to let go. She felt herself endlessly falling and awoke with a start.

Rachel sat up quickly. The illusion of hanging from that cliff was so vivid that she actually felt pain in her fingers. She opened and closed her hands and looked around the room. Moonlight cast a thin white beam through the curtains. She took in her table, her laptop, her bed and empty, blank walls. It had been a dream, whether the happier moments with Quinn were realistic or not she couldn't be sure. Suddenly the silence around her was pierced by the silvery soft notes of a piano. She got out of bed, put on her slippers and went to the guestroom Quinn had occupied not long ago. Her fingers trembled as it turned the brass handle. When she looked through the door, all was dark and empty. The piano tune however, repeated itself: _twinkle, twinkle, little star_. But it wasn't complete, just five notes being played over and over again. She had always known that she had an active imagination, yet, this time it was lively. Was this her mind's way of mourning for a lost love, being called to Quinn through dreams and music?

For a moment she lingered at the door-frame and looked at the empty, messy, unmade bed. The house seemed to be holding its breath. She took one step and then another and then another, feeling as if she really hadn't awakened. This all seemed part of that tumultuous nightmare that had seized a hold of her. Reaching the bed, the piano music stopped and when she sat down on the mattress, all was still; all was quiet. She could smell Quinn's scent once her head reached the pillow, and she was crying at last.

The images of their argument played back in her head, the moment she saw Quinn's face close and she seemed to be looking far away at something, something terrible and heartbreaking that only she could see. Through the walls, through all of Quinn's trembling control, she could see the tortured look of unbearable guilt and loneliness. A look so lost and haunted that before Rachel knew to move to Quinn's side, the walls had completed its reconstruction.

She was crying with anger and humiliation and frustration. Most of all, she was crying for the emptiness left by Quinn's departure.

After the tears, she fell asleep soundlessly to the idea of Quinn being beside her, and when she awoke the sun had risen high into the morning sky. She was facing the window and watched as the morning light beat through the window and onto her skin, hoping it would lift away the veil of darkness within her. She had hoped that sleep would consume her and take away her nightmares, but morning had come, just as truth and reality had. Her heart felt like a brick in her chest. Her arms and legs ached like she had been pushing through soft, wet dirt with her fingers and dragging her body along with it. She ran a hand along Quinn's side of the bed. It was better for the both of them that they take time apart, but _divorce_ had sounded so final.

There was a knock on the door and without turning, she heard her daddy say, "Rachel? Honey, Brittany's here to see you."

"Hey, Rach," she heard Brittany's low voice and then the door closed and the bed dipped. "Did you sleep well?"

Rachel snuggled deeper into the comforter and shook her head. Brittany lightly ran her hand up and down the length of Rachel's back. "I know you miss, Quinn. She misses you, too. She's just scared," Rachel didn't say anything, just continued watching the sun. Brittany continued, "I bought you some food. Your dads said you haven't eaten so we should eat together."

She heard the sound of tupperware lids being opened and food being scooped onto a plate, the bed rose, footsteps leading to her side, then Brittany sat in front of her and placed the plate on the table beside the bed. Rachel just lay there staring out the window. Sorrow had seized her and made her its own silent creature. Brittany rushed to hug her, and even though her own arms felt limp she welcomed the feel of Brittany's strong, comforting embrace and the rich scent of her perfume.

"Oh, Rach, please don't be like this. I don't know what to do when you're like this. You're always so happy and cheery and you laugh at everything I say and today I don't know how to make you laugh, so please just laugh for the sake of laughing."

Rachel didn't laugh, a small smile appeared instead and Brittany said, "I'll take that over your frown any day. Now, please eat. It's vegan."

"Why does it hurt?" Her throat was raw and dry.

Brittany handed her a glass of water and she mustered her strength to push herself up so her back was resting on the headboard. "Because you've lost something you love."

"I don't remember loving her."

"You might not remember it but you _do_, somewhere deep down that heart of yours," Brittany poked a finger to Rachel's chest, missing her sternum and hit her nipple instead. "Oops, sorry," she giggled. "Don't tell San I did that."

That elicited a small giggle from Rachel, only for a tiny moment, then she was serious again. "But _why_? I don't know if I love Quinn. I do feel something but I can't say it's love."

"You loved her before, and the feeling's still there you just can't remember it—yet." Brittany stroked her cheek, wiping the tear that slipped from Rachel's eye. "You still love her, Rachel. You believe that you don't because you don't remember anything, but I know that with time you will fall in love with Quinn over again."

Rachel lowered her head to Brittany's shoulder, taking in everything she had said. Brittany; optimistic, energetic and determined. She seemed incapable of being depressed or diminished. Her sapphire eyes were full of hope and life. At a time like this, Rachel welcomed her sunshine like the grass and the wild flowers welcomed the sun's rays that shone every day.

"How's Quinn?" Rachel asked stiffly and she braced herself for the answer.

"Quinn is... Quinn's Quinn, you know?" She put her arm around Rachel's shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "She'll come around when she's ready."

Rachel didn't know what Quinn was like. She knew the _high school_ Quinn, and last night she had seen glimpses of that up until the moment Quinn kissed her. "Is she okay?"

"Rachel, you should eat."

"No," Rachel held onto Brittany's arm when she was about to pull away. "I want to know. Is she _okay_?"

"No, she's not," Brittany explained not wanting to look into her chocolate eyes. "She's burying her feelings. Her walls—"

"—Have completed its reconstruction." Rachel finished with a sigh.

"Well, I wasn't going to say it like that, but yes, it has."

She pressed her face against Brittany's shoulder and chest and began to weep. She was weeping for Quinn and her fathers who have loved the woman she once was, she was weeping for herself and all that she has lost. She was weeping for that innocent child who didn't know what her life would become and who she was going to hurt, because all she saw in her future was stardom, musicals, Broadway, fans wanting her signature. She thought that she would have all the love and tenderness she'd ever need, and now she was so confused as to why she was mourning the loss of something she couldn't remember having. Most of all, she was weeping for Quinn, for the love she should have been able to reclaim as hers forever.

"Rachel," Brittany finally said. "It's not over. Quinn's not thinking clearly, and she cares about you _so _much that she doesn't care about anything except your happiness and she's doing this because she thinks you need it. You _need _to reach out to her, you_ need_ to tell her."

After a long pause, Rachel said, "I don't know how. I don't know how to deal with _this_ Quinn. I don't know anything about her."

"It doesn't matter," Brittany said urgently. "You love her, don't you realize that? You've been crying for Quinn even though you don't remember her or anything about the past. You've lost something so significant to you that it _hurts_. If you feel _this_ strongly about something you claim to not remember, you shouldn't give up." They were staring at one another now, Brittany's eyes were so fierce and she couldn't tear her own eyes away. "People have insects that make us feel things—"

"Instincts."

"—for a reason. We get instincts to tell us to do this and that and that doing this will be good for us or doing this is bad. What are _your _instincts telling you, Rachel?"

"I don't know—"

"_What are they telling you?_" She said slowly, almost yelling.

Rachel looked away from Brittany and said, "That I shouldn't give up on Quinn."

Brittany relaxed and in turn it made Rachel relax and then she was able to say, "I don't understand _why_. Quinn said goodbye, she left. I wanted this to work, I've _tried_ so hard."

"It doesn't matter," she repeated, raising her voice a notch. "Why aren't you listening to me, Rachel? You don't feel strongly about something unless it's for a reason. You knew from a young age that you were going to be famous and be a star and _you felt so strong about it_ that you didn't give up on your dreams. Why is this any different? Why should you give up just because Quinn left and she said goodbye? Why should you give up on anything you believe in? If everyone gave up in life when things get hard we wouldn't have Edison who invented light or those scientists who created the computer and the internet." Brittany inhaled deeply and continued in one swift breath. "I'm pretty sure making a computer isn't easy with all that stuff inside of it and I'm sure the internet wasn't easy to come up with either with all the wires and whatever they use to connect things together. If people just gave up we wouldn't have _anything_, and if you give up on Quinn right now it'll be _over_, Rachel, because Quinn won't be coming back. As harsh as it sounds, that's Quinn for you. If she sees that your life is better without her,_ she's not coming back._"

Rachel placed her hands on either side of Brittany's arms to try and calm her. She was breathing heavily and her eyes were burning into Rachel at every word. "Okay, okay. Relax, Britt, breathe. I won't give up on Quinn. I'll try and reach out to her, I'll do _anything_ until she understands that I'll always be here."

"You shouldn't give up on yourself either, Rach. You love music and Broadway, don't give up on that just because you were in an accident and can't remember five years of your life. Make new memories."

Rachel took her hand and they embraced again. Once she pulled away, Rachel said, "I feel like I've had this conversation before."

"With who?"

"I don't know. Are you going to tell me to serenade to Quinn?"

Brittany looked at her quizzically. "Do you want me to?"

She shook her head and slumped back onto the headboard. "Never mind, I'm probably just imagining things." With another heavy sigh, she said, "Where's Quinn now? Can I see her?"

"Umm—" Brittany turned her head to look out the window for a few long seconds and then back to Rachel, who had a little bit of spark in her eyes. "Quinn's..."

Just like that, the spark was gone. "What? What happened?"

"Quinn left, Rachel."

"Left? What do you mean?"

"She's gone back to New York." Brittany offered.

Rachel was up off the bed in a matter of seconds. "Is she at the airport? Which airport did she go to? Can I still catch her? We can still catch her."

"No, Rach, listen," Brittany held onto her hands and her face saddened. "She left this morning, she's probably on the plane now. But you should text her or even call her later today."

Rachel remained quiet but nodded her acquiescence, staring far into the distance until Brittany bought her back. "Now, you need to eat and then Santana and Puck are coming. They have something big planned for you."

Rachel went to the bathroom to wash herself quickly, and when she came back they both sat opposite each other eating on the bed. Brittany was chatting idly about all the things Rachel had missed out in the past five years, and she tried to enjoy the rich cuisine but it all tasted of pebbles; bland and hard. Brittany made three valid points as she spoke about her life and Rachel tried to blend it into her own: life is short; sometimes you can't turn back; everything happens for a reason. The awful thing was she could finally understand how a direction, a momentum, could grow into something nobody could have expected. The events of the accident changed both Quinn and herself and their relationship. She can see how Quinn just sent everything deep inside, she tried to remain as positive as possible until it was too much for her to handle and she had to remove herself from the situation. For every gain there is a sacrifice; Quinn sacrificed herself in order for Rachel to gain happiness.

"...And that is how Lord Tubbington got pregnant. As for—"

Rachel turned her head towards the bedroom door when she heard footsteps ascending closer and Santana poked her head through cautiously and raised her eyebrows as if to ask if it were all right to enter. Puck, however, pushed passed her and flopped himself onto the bed holding a six pack of beers. He opened a bottle for himself and took a sip before noticing the three pairs of repulsive glances directed at him.

"Oh, did you guys want one? Should have said something." He laughed and proceeded to open another one but Rachel stopped him.

"Noah, must you always have a beer in your hands?"

"Beer keeps me energized," he winked seductively. "If you know what I mean."

Rachel wiped at her eyes as she said, "I don't need the visual, thank you."

"Anyway," Santana gave Brittany a small peek and grabbed a board game out of the bag she was holding. She turned to Rachel, "Let's play Scrabble."

"_That's_ the big thing you have planned for me?" She was expecting a big party in her honor perhaps her fans might have wanted to visit. Or maybe a reporter from a famous magazine had wanted to interview her. She shook her head at the ridiculous thoughts and heard Santana say,

"What did you expect? A big party? I'm in no shape or form to throw you a party. That's Quinn's—"

At hearing Quinn's name, Rachel was at a loss for air. That would also account for the dizziness. The air was smothering her, it felt like there was a crushing weight all around her.

"Sorry," Santana mumbled a moment later. "Let's play—"

"How is she?" Rachel took in a deep breath, needing the air to help her talk and stay alive. "Did she get to the airport alright?"

Santana sounded as breathless as Rachel felt. "She'll be okay."

It wasn't quite the answer she was expecting, but then she didn't know what she was expecting. All she knew was that she needed to see Quinn, to hear her voice. The thought scared her. She had no memory of falling in love with Quinn or being with her, yet being away from Quinn was like being separated from her own flesh.

Santana reached over to take her hand. "It'll be okay, Rach. Quinn just needs time."

Ignoring the crushing fear inside of her, she looked into Santana's eyes. "When did you become so nice?"

Santana retracted her hand immediately and muttered through her teeth with a small laugh, "Shut up."

"No, seriously," Rachel was desperate to know when everything had changed. "When did we all become friends? Why are you guys so nice to me?"

Puck spoke flatly, "We've always been friends, Rach. You couldn't have forgotten that."

"I meant, when did we become _this_ close?" She turned to Brittany and Santana. "You both live in Boston and you drove all the way down here to keep me company? And Noah, don't you work? I don't recall any of you doing that for me in high school when I was feeling down about not getting a solo or even that time I had laryngitis."

Puck put his arm around her and drew her in for a hug. "A lot of things have changed, Rach. We're not in high school anymore—"

"We've matured a lot since then," Brittany added.

"And when you and Q started dating she didn't want to go anywhere without you," Santana said with a tiny gag. "She was kind of whipped and it was utterly sickening watching how in love you two were."

"It was cute," Brittany argued. "Don't say mean things, San."

Santana paused for a moment and then rolled her eyes. "Hobbit knows I'm only kidding."

"Why do you insist on making fun of my stature?" Rachel said, straightening. "As I stated before, I'm not _that_ much shorter than you."

"Quinn used to tease you about it. It's just caught on." Santana shrugged and then pulled out a chair sitting at the end of the bed. Rachel hadn't realized that she had been standing for a good half an hour. "Are we gonna play Scrabble or what? I'm going to kick your ass, Shorty." She then proceeded to lay out the tiles onto the bed.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. There was a coldness in Rachel's approach at playing the game and watching her friends interact so effortlessly with one another. It was odd, Rachel realized, like two different worlds colliding. Rachel looked around everything with new eyes, Puck would smile at her in delight, Brittany laughed at everything she said, and Santana approved of her word choices, even though Rachel was sure she had no idea what half of them meant. Without seemingly to concentrate, she won the game and found herself enjoying the pout and whinge from Santana.

"How did you do that?" Santana asked her incredulously. "You looked like you weren't even trying half the time."

Rachel blinked a few times and then gave her a huge smile. "I'm just _that_ good."

Puck opened a bottle of beer and handed the girls one each. "Have a beer, Rach."

"No, thanks, Noah. I don't enjoy beer."

There was stunned silence and they eyed each other until Brittany said, "We should watch a movie. What do you want to watch, Rach?"

"I know what you guys are trying to do," Rachel said. "You don't have to keep me company. I'm not going to hurt myself or attempt suicide."

Rachel knew that this meant the conversation was finished. Whatever opinion her friends might have—if they did, in fact, have any opinions—they would keep it to themselves. With a heavy sigh, she pulled the blanket off of her, took the empty plates and cutlery and walked out the door into the kitchen. She could hear the sound of her dads watching television from the living but chose to ignore them and began washing the dishes. Her friends didn't follow her into the kitchen, instead they were chatting quietly with her dads in the other room. No doubt the main topic was her well-being and possible divorce from Quinn.

She put the kettle on and stared out the window. The suburb stretched out flat and monotonous around the house, all grey and muted, functional and drab. Sometimes when the culmination of life's responsibilities made her anxious and stressed, she wished she could teleport herself to the sparkling emerald stretch of sea that lay just outside her grandmother's cabin in Colorado. Remembering Colorado made her heart flutter and her mind betrayed her once again. Instead of remembering the wonderful days she spent with her fathers and grandma Berry baking cookies and playing board games, she recalled talking to Quinn every day and the excitement she felt every time she received—a letter? An email? A text?—from Quinn. Such memories warmed the loneliness in her heart and turned her eyes into gleeful ones. They were happy memories, ones that made you aware of life's thrilling moments.

As if they were a protective cape, she wrapped the memories of those days around herself and rushed into the living room. "How did Quinn and I meet?"

"What are you talking about, honey?" Leroy asked moving towards her.

Rachel said hurriedly, "How did we meet? Was it on the phone? On the internet? _What?_"

"You met on tumblr," Santana said softly, her eyes lingering on Rachel's flushed form. "Why?"

"Colorado. I remember something about Colorado," she said and leaned against the wall. "I feel so... strong about it. I'm... happy, extremely happy."

"Rachel," Brittany said straightening up quickly from the couch, a childlike excitement returning to her voice. "Are you getting your memories back?"

"I don't—know," she gasped out. "There's just something about Colorado."

"You were in Colorado the year you and Quinn began talking." Hiram's low, soft voice was unfamiliar. "I remember you being holed up in your room and you refused to participate in any activities for two weeks and when we came back home you were attached to your laptop. I'm not joking, Rachel, you carried it everywhere."

Leroy laughed at the memory. "When we lectured you about it you told us that it was our fault for not upgrading your phone to a newer model so you could use the internet on it."

Puck tugged her away from the wall and helped her sit on the couch. "Are you okay, Rach?"

Relaxed now, she licked her lips, realizing her mouth felt dry and cottony. Her tongue flicked out moistening her parched lips. "Thirsty," she croaked out. "I need a drink."

A minute later, Leroy handed her a glass and she drank deeply, the cool, sweet liquid flowing down her throat. Never had anything tasted so wondrous.

Brittany rubbed light circles on her back. "This is good, Rach. It's something."

She closed her eyes and partial thoughts drifted through her mind. She could hear the rush of waves from the beach. She could see glimmering lights on the dark water of the bay. The moon's rays sparkled in the water and she could smell the sea. She filled her lungs with the sea and the moon and the night and the cleansing air. From the balcony she heard a _ding_ from her computer and she rushed over to witness: _starcheerio sent you a friend request_.

Rachel let out a huge breath that left her completely weak, and she settled back onto the couch, her spine stiff with panic. She couldn't seem to remember anything else, just the thought of Colorado left her tingling and sent thrilling electricity up and down her body.

There was worry etched across everyone's face when Rachel narrowed her eyes at them, every line was withered with concern, from piercing eyes to unsmiling mouths. "I have to talk to Quinn," she said. "I'm going to call Quinn. Do you think she's home now?"

"Probably," Santana said. "She's definitely landed already, that's for sure."

Rachel walked up to her room; the electric hum of the television, the air, the traffic outside her house was all a fog around her. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled for her phone, shut the door behind her and rested her head on the dark wood of her bookshelf. She looked up at the clock hanging on the wall and she shamelessly indulged in a little girl's fantasy that she could turn back the time, to before the argument with Quinn, to before the accident. She had been happy, she knew that for sure. She lifted her head, and shook away the world.

When Quinn didn't answer her phone three times in a row, Rachel contemplated leaving a voicemail. Then she thought better of it and sent out a text: **Quinn, please call me back. We need to talk.**

She waited half an hour and rang again, four more times and all her patience vanished when Quinn shut off her phone and the call went straight to voicemail. The conflagration in her heart was searing hot and burned away the cold air. Quinn didn't want to talk to her, that much she could wrap her head around, but there was no need for Quinn to ignore her completely. Her heart was enveloped in a cloud of despair.

She called again, and left a message, "Quinn, I know you don't want to talk, which is fine because I understand you need space. But please don't shut me out completely. I remembered something from Colorado, I know it's not much but I think it's still something and I have a good feeling we can get through this. Please, call me back."

•••

**February 1st, 2016**

By nature, Rachel had never been adventurous—even though she wasn't timid—but according to her fathers her situation had become desperate. She had resumed the use of her elliptical and it left her muscles tense and rigid. She needed stability to help pass the time, without it she found herself scrubbing the floors, cleaning the windows, rearranging the furniture. A few days ago she gave away most of her clothes to Goodwill. The past two weeks passed like a dream; the constant urge to sleep, logic fled, and memory drained away like motor oil. Her only thoughts consisted of Quinn and wanting to call Quinn and hoping that Quinn would call her and waiting by the phone and jumping eagerly whenever the phone rang only to have it end in disappointment because it was never Quinn. Quinn had somehow disappeared from the face of the planet, no one had heard from her and she turned her phone off completely.

Her dad, Hiram, suggested a little hike in the forests a few miles from Lima and although she had protested, he hadn't relented and he picked her up by the waist and carried her to the car.

The sun was glaring a yellow orb suspended over the distant mountains, casting long black shadows over the uneven terrain. A hawk soared lazily overhead, its wide wingspan catching the unseen wind currents. The coolness of the mountain morning lingered, turning their warm breath to smoky puffs.

Rachel's hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her jackets as she stared at the strange landscape. She glanced down at her shiny brown shoes, the toes were already showing a covering of pale dust. Her dad could have waited a few minutes until she picked out the proper hiking boots, instead he grabbed her _new_ casual outing boots and shoved them on her feet while in the car.

"Having fun, sweetie?" Leroy patted her on the back. "It's a beautiful scenery."

"No." She huffed, but something like a smile came to her lips realizing how at ease she felt in this rugged, little forest.

"Oh, hush, sweetie," Hiram said a few feet in front of her. "I can see that smile on your lips."

"Do you have eyes at the back of your head now, dad?"

He chuckled loudly. "Of course, I do. How do you think I found out that you were dating Quinn back in the day?"

Rachel's heart jerked and she caught up to him, linking their arms. "Tell me?"

"It was an accident, actually. I don't know if you want to hear it." He paused waiting for a confirmation from Rachel. When she nodded, he glanced back at his husband with the intention of asking a question, but Leroy was busy examining plants and was too far behind them. He turned back to Rachel and said, "Okay. Brace yourself."

Rachel squeezed tighter to his side and listened intently. "It was the year two-thousand and twelve," Hiram began. "Thanksgiving and Christmas had passed. We had just celebrated the Jewish—"

"Dad, get to the point, please,"

"Alright, alright. I'm guessing you want the short version?" He asked and she nodded eagerly and he said, "Simply put, I walked in on you and Quinn having sex."

Rachel couldn't open her mouth to save her life. A hot sweat broke over her skin at the implication of his words. The image of a naked Quinn flashed through her mind, then another of Rachel writhing underneath her—or vice versa—and Quinn's fingers doing magical things to her body. Her cheeks flushed heavily at the thoughts. She should've let the subject drop, yes, but she was too curious now. "You're joking, right?"

Hiram's shoulders lifted in a rigid shrug. "I wish I was, honey. The image still haunts me till this day."

"I could not have been that careless." Her eyes wide, she shook her head vigorously.

"One does not think clearly when one is in love."

She could feel the beginning of her feet getting sore. Her shoes were flat-heeled, practical enough for walking long blocks on city sidewalks, but they were useless in this terrain. "Were we—" She swallowed with a gulp before saying, "—Naked?"

"Uh huh, very much so," he laughed at the horror plastered on her face. "I didn't see anything womanly, if that's what you're worried about. Quinn was very quick to act and covered you both with the blanket."

Rachel didn't know what else to say. There were so many questions she wanted to ask about Quinn, she desperately wanted to get to know the new Quinn. Somehow, that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Instead, she focused on something else. She had a childhood of privilege and the thought that her dads might have yelled at her was daunting. "What did you do?"

Hiram didn't speak for a moment. Just watched her, studied her. "We talked about boundaries and applied new house rules. Quinn wasn't allowed over unless one or both of us were home and you weren't allowed at her house unless Judy was home and your daddy made sure of that."

"Judy knew?" She asked shakily.

"Quinn came out to her long before we had known."

Rachel straightened her shoulders and felt the soles of her shoes stepping on rocks and thorny bushes. Well, there goes her new pair of shoes. "Really? Quinn would do that?"

"It was very much like you, Rach," his strong arms wrapped around her shoulder. "You were both caught in a compromising position and Quinn had to come out."

"What was it?"

Their quick pace carried them to the rise through the forest. A distant, spiky-leaved plant caught Hiram's eye and he walked toward it for a closer inspection.

"Dad!" Rachel followed him and cringed at the lifeless plant. There were no bell-shaped flowers on the stalk, only barely formed buds. "I want to know."

"I'm going to let Judy tell you about _that._" He said and returned to examining the plant.

"But—but," Rachel sputtered. "You can't say that and just leave it."

Leroy caught up to them and stood beside his husband. "What are you two talking about?"

"When Judy found out Quinn and I were dating," Rachel said quickly. "I would like to know how it came about."

"Oh, _that_ moment," Leroy hummed in amusement. "We'll leave that one to Judy."

"Daddy," she stomped her foot and pouted. "This is so unfair."

"Come on, sweetie, let's go." Leroy grabbed onto her arm and they continued with the hike.

With a resigned sigh, Rachel dropped the subject. When they reached a new vintage point, Rachel gazed out over the expanse of wild land. Far, far away, she could see dark specks of slowly moving animals. Vaguely she remembered her daddy saying that cattle were pastured across the land and she assumed what she saw was part of a herd. Tiny against the vast landscape, the faraway cattle made her even more aware of what she had been missing in life since the accident, and a chill sent a shiver down her body despite the warmth of the sun.

They wandered through, reaching higher hill-tops and climbing over large rocks. Rachel made her way warily up the steep incline, following her fathers behind. She thought of hungry coyotes and even mountain lions, and startled herself when she reached the top and found herself staring at a white-faced cow. She took a hasty step back, nearly losing her balance before she stopped. The cow eyed her suspiciously for several seconds and then turned and trotted away. Not until it seemed there was no chance of it returning did she expel a breath she'd unknowingly been holding.

"Rachel, are you okay?" Her dad called from in front. "What happened?"

"I'm fine, dad, I just saw a cow."

"Well, come on," he waved for her to hurry. "It's beautiful up here."

The muscles in her calves were aching from climbing. To the right of where the cow had been standing was a jumble of rocks. One flat rock looked inviting, offering a relatively comfortable seat.

"I'm going to sit down over here for a minute." She called out. The sun beat down and warmed the stone, which made it doubly relaxing. Leaning back, Rachel closed her eyes and basked in the steady sunshine.

She felt something poke her ribs and opened her eyes to see her fathers standing above her. "Rachel, you can't sit down. We don't have long to go." Leroy said.

"But my feet hurt," she whined. "If you had let me chosen the correct shoes for hiking I wouldn't be in the position."

Hiram continued to poke her with the stick. "Come on, no rest for the wicked."

She grunted and whacked the stick away when he was about to poke her again. "Whose idea was this? My muscles are already aching from the elliptical. I can only handle so much pain."

A troubled, disbelieving expression creased Leroy's forehead. "Rachel, please," he said softly. "We haven't had family time for so long. It's so good to have you back."

Rachel's thudded heart sped up at seeing the hurt in her fathers' eyes and she pulled them both in for a group hug. "I'm sorry. I'll behave."

The path leading back down to the start was farther than she'd thought. The sun that had been over her shoulder during the first part of the hike was now shining in their eyes as they began to retrace their steps. Her legs were still a little stiff and she felt what could only be classified as a blister on her heel. If it wasn't for the sun shining reassuringly in front of her, Rachel would have been willing to believe that her dads had taken the wrong turn and that they were lost in the forest.

Farther on, the weathered houses and the buildings came into view. She paused once more to look back at the forest and breathed a sigh of contentment. She had missed this; family time. She missed her dads comforting embraces and happy smiles. A long-legged jackrabbit hopped away when Rachel came close to a thick stand of bush. His hasty departure made her think of her own wish to flee her unfriendly surroundings as soon as possible.

Rachel ran to the car the instant she saw it and said—"Finally, this is heaven,"—as soon as she sat down and took off her shoes. She examined the soles and she was right: the rocks, twigs, stone pavement and bushes had scratched and permanently marred them. "I spent thirty-five dollars on these. I would like a new pair."

In the passenger seat, Leroy chuckled. "Rachel, do you know how much you make? You could buy five pairs of those. _Better _ones."

She hadn't stopped to consider what she had accomplished over the past few years. Her life moved as if God had pressed a button and shifted it into fast forward. She was breaking out into a cold sweat of absolute panic. For a few moments she became almost catatonic, unable to swallow, her body trembling. She was, after all, no longer responsible only for herself.

"Well... um, Quinn, she took care of all the insurance papers and medical bills, and I guess since we're married we have belongs we purchased between us, right? She did give me my credit card but she never mentioned anything financially to me."

Even though she didn't see their expressions, she knew her fathers were glancing worriedly at each other when she mentioned Quinn. The silence in the car was magnified until Rachel said quietly, "What happens when Quinn and I get a divorce?"

"You won't, sweetie." Leroy said.

"What _if_, daddy?"

"Everything you both own will be divided, from furniture to any financial assets you have together."

"What if we don't agree on anything?" Rachel took a sip of water and waited patiently.

Leroy turned around in his position to look at her. "You'll have a lawyer, and you'll both meet and discuss what you want and what you don't want. If you both want the same things your lawyers will argue why you should get it instead of Quinn."

They drove for another fifteen minutes and her fathers were chatting nervously. Rachel looked out the windows and sucked a peppermint for carsickness. The idea of divorce sickened her. If she couldn't get through to Quinn in a few weeks' time they would be discussing the remnants of their shared belongings and arguing about who was more deserving of what. Gradually, the lumberyards and fields thinned out and replaced by suburbs. Hiram turned into their street and parked the car in the driveway. There was a rush of cold air when Rachel opened the door and she quickly ran into the house.

Once they were all inside, a loud rap on the door startled them and Rachel walked hesitantly to the door. It was with a mixture of excitement and curiosity when she opened it—they had just come home, after all. Had this person been waiting outside for hours until they arrived or did they just have impeccable timing? A man of medium height and build, dressed in a grey-striped suit, stood with his back to the door surveying the houses around the neighborhood.

"Can I help you?" Rachel asked. Her question brought the man around with a start.

He had a wide, friendly face and dancing brown eyes, in his later forties by her guess. "Rachel Berry, I presume?" The man drawled softly as his gaze roamed over her in respectful admiration. "My name is Ty Spalding and I have a delivery for you from Miss Quinn Fabray."

Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to think of some reply that wouldn't make her seem too eager or sound ignorant. Ty handed her a yellow envelope. She cast her eyes down, the knowledge of what she thought it was frightened her to the marrow. She ignored the thought and took the envelope with shaky hands. She signed the clipboard and handed it back to him, "Thank you."

"Please read over it carefully, Miss Berry," he explained. "It's extremely important that you read everything." She stood in the door until Ty Spalding got behind the wheel of his car and drove off.

Then she closed the door and hurried to the kitchen table to open the special-delivery mail. Her dads were watching her curiously. Surely it was just a letter because Quinn didn't know how to talk to Rachel after what happened between them. Perhaps it was a gift and there was a special surprise inside telling Rachel to meet her somewhere. She tore open the envelope and unfolded the papers within. What she read brought her heart down to earth like a balloon that had sprung a leak. She sat down slowly, her pitter-patter heart becoming a thumping, heavy lead drum in her chest. The happiness she had felt during the day with her fathers evaporated and tears filled her eyes, blurring the words on the page before her.

_Dear: Miss Rachel Barbra Berry,_

_Enclosed are divorce documents inquired by Miss Quinn Fabray. From today onwards, you have thirty (30) days to serve upon Miss Fabray's answer to the claims of the petition. You may discuss this further with your lawyer and once all papers have been signed we will commence to the second phase of the divorce process known as the information gathering stage. During this phase, information is gathered and exchanged regarding such things as the assets and liabilities of both parties, incomes and monthly expenses._

_Please read and sign all documents where appropriate. I look forward to settling this as discreetly as possible._

_Russell Fabray._

"Rachel, what is it?" Leroy asked.

One of her tears fell on the letter and began a quick journey over the paper, distorting some of the words. Letting the papers fall to her lap, she sat back, tears now flowing freely over her cheeks and to the corners of her mouth, where she could taste their salty wetness. The world shuffled, arrange and rearranged itself around her like a bird puffing out its feathers. Sounds became indistinct; traffic, voices, airplanes, everything ran together into one larger sound like a crowd, hundreds and thousands of people assembling nearby.

"Rachel? Honey?"

After her initial astonishment, her first reaction was a blood-angry rage. She wanted to tear each and every paper in two and throw the pieces into the fireplace. A part of her had thought that given the time and space, Quinn would rethink this whole situation and realize that they could work through this. She had tried to reach out to Quinn, called and texted her beyond the necessary amount. She had no idea that Quinn would go to such lengths to seek out her father—who by the way had kicked her out of home—to send her such a message. This was totally unacceptable and inexcusable.

After her boiling anger receded, she flipped through the documents, she had a secondary reaction one based upon a more thoughtful and objective analysis. This wasn't just infuriating and annoying; it was somewhat frightening. To what would this mean? Would they ever see each other again? Would Quinn ever be able to be in the same room as her? Was Quinn going to throw away everything they shared because Rachel had lost her memories? Was Quinn trying to be the hero by putting Rachel's happiness before hers?

"Rachel!" Leroy yelled and she snapped her eyes toward him. "Let me see that."

No, she couldn't let her fathers see it. She couldn't stand being in this house. She pulled away from him and bolted to the street, heart beating wildly, pushing from her chest till she wanted to spit it out on the pavement and stop its freakish pounding. She walked, walked faster, a sick panic like nothing she'd felt in her life. Frantically she reasoned with herself: there's nothing to be afraid of, everything will be fine. She was running now, her mind scrambling for the right combination of thoughts, her heart pounding away like a machine gun-fire.

She leaned against a building and tried to swallow down her heart. She closed her eyes but no, it wasn't helping. Without being aware of a conscious decision to move, Rachel reached into her pocket and took out her phone. She dialed Quinn's number. She took a deep breath and then straightened her shoulders, holding her head up high even though her eyes were sore and burning. The call went straight to voicemail.

"Quinn, I got the papers." She wouldn't cry, Rachel told herself, she _wouldn't_. "You don't have to do this. You were the one that told me you were never going to leave. You told me that you were going to be by my side no matter what, so why aren't you? You can't _leave_ just when things get hard, that's not fair. You can't throw everything away because you think my happiness is more precious than yours. I'm trying _so hard_ and if you had wanted me to continue singing or return to Broadway you should've just told me that yourself." She took a deep breath, the air was like gravel travelling down her esophagus. "If you would have _asked_ instead of _assumed _you'll know why I did what I did. I put you first because you're my _wife_ regardless of whether I remember it or not. Quinn, please just call me back. We can talk about this before it's too late."

•••

**October 17th, 2011**

Rachel had kissed four boys in her short life.

Now as she sat in the choir room watching Finn perform, she realized it was one more than Quinn, but out of those four, Finn was her only _true_ boyfriend. Jesse was manipulative, while Puck and Blaine were just for fun. Blaine; stylish and always well-dressed and passionate was a result of one drunken night playing a game of spin the bottle. She considers Blaine an experience; he is after all, _very _gay and _very _much dating one of her closest friends. For her future bibliography she's able to say: I kissed a gay man and it was a pleasant experience. She kissed Puck to spite Finn, twice, but the first time they were dating for a short while and she came to care for him, he was certainly not dull. Jesse; cocky, ambitious and manipulative. He was her male equivalent, and although she did love herself to extreme lengths, dating herself was a mistake on her part. She wanted to be the _only_ star, with Jesse they would constantly be competing for the spotlight. Finn was her first boyfriend; she was in awe of his youth, it was almost overwhelming. It had definitely been love with Finn and he had definitely broken her heart. His abandonment made her feel so gutted that she believed she could never feel whole again.

Until she fell for Quinn.

With Quinn, she felt brighter and fresher than she had ever before. She had come full circle, erasing the pain of the past. She was filled with hope and happiness again, willing to believe, to be vulnerable, to open herself to someone and risk her fragile heart. Quinn was exciting, glamorous, and confident. There were so many dark areas in her that Rachel had yet to explore and understand that the idea was thrilling. It takes a long time to know someone, even someone you love very much and she wanted to know all about Quinn even if it took her a lifetime.

She moved her feet and body to Finn's rendition of_ Tom Jones' She's a Lady_, her thoughts were drowned out by the mechanical, ferocious pulse of the music coming from the band. Rachel couldn't help abide to the rhythm and the tonality when his voice hit the correct notes. She was swaying and tapping, enjoying the music's frenzied single-minded dedication to movement and to dance. Quinn, beside her, wasn't too pleased that Rachel had been spending some time with Finn the previous day and Quinn's lack of enthusiasm and participation for his performance was the result of it.

Everyone cheered and clapped when Finn finished singing and Brittany almost let out a squeal of delight.

"Good job, Finn," Mr. Schue tapped him on his back. "That was a great song choice to end our seventy's week."

Finn had the same cheeky smile and said, "Thanks Mr. Schue. Rachel helped me with it." Rachel sunk low in her chair and refused to meet eyes with Quinn. "Without her I'd still think Tom Jones is the guy from Men in Black."

Mr. Schue frowned but gave Finn a triumphant grin. "That's it for the day, guys. Enjoy the rest of your week."

The room was empty by the time Rachel finished speaking to Mr. Schue about possible songs for Sectionals and after she gathered her music sheets, she turned to see Quinn waiting for her at door. Her back was leaning against the door-frame, her head scanning from side to side down the empty hallway. No one had ever waited for Rachel before, the image made her heart flutter. This was the sort of all-consuming love that made the world disappear. She met Quinn at the doorway and the warmth in that brief look made Rachel swallow hard. She saw the love and sweetness there.

"You waited."

Quinn smiled, the gentlest of smiles. "Yeah, I figured someone might kidnap you."

"I can defend myself, Quinn," she said sheepishly as they headed down the corridor. "I carry a rape whistle with me everywhere."

"You do not," Quinn quipped. "Where do you even get that from?"

"I do, too." She paused and tightened her fingers around Quinn's; the magnetism that bought their hands together was unmistakably strong. "They sell it at the drug store."

Then Quinn's grin faded and she turned to look at Rachel, serious for once. "I'm not too keen on you helping Finn with songs."

"Quinn, you were there. Finn was well behaved."

Quinn pouted and the look was enough to dissolve Rachel into a puddle. "That doesn't mean I like it."

"We're friends." Rachel clarified, focusing her attention on anything _but_ Quinn's lips. "I can assure you that I'm completely over him."

Rachel glanced up and tried not to think of her mouth devouring Quinn's lean, muscled body, her moans of pleasure in Rachel's ears, her hands gripping Rachel's hair, the taste of Quinn's lips on her tongue. Unfortunately, she thought of little else and walked straight into the drinking fountain. Her foot slammed into the metal, knocking the air from her lungs, her knees knocked together, buckled, and she almost propelled onto her face. Her free hand grabbed onto the metal edge of the drinking fountain to balance herself and she pushed to her feet, Quinn's arm looped around her waist, helping her stand.

"Be careful!" Quinn barked, there was lack of menace, just worry. "Where were you looking?"

Quinn's breasts were meshed into her side, and her fingers slipped underneath Rachel's sweater, latching onto her bare midriff. When she felt the heat of Quinn's palm, she sucked in a breath. Quinn held onto her firmly, keeping her in place. Rachel may appear strong because of her intense workouts on the elliptical, but in this moment she was extremely dainty.

"You could've hurt yourself," Quinn whispered against her ear, her breath caressed Rachel's cheek. "Are you okay?" Quinn's desperate gaze sought her, and whatever she saw on Rachel's face made her relax. "You had me worried you were going to kill us both."

"I'm fine, thank you."

When they pulled apart, Rachel made the mistake of turning to speak and found herself eye level with Quinn's mouth. The soft, sensuous curve of her lower lip was awfully tempting and Rachel couldn't look away from it. Quinn's hand touched her cheek, the softness of her skin rasping in a satisfying caress against her own before Quinn's thumb lifted her chin. She hardly recognized the burning darkness in those hazel eyes. Rachel's eyelids fluttered shut while Quinn moved closer. An unspoken invitation for Quinn to kiss her was conveyed by her parted, glistening lips. Rachel felt Quinn's breath and the tiniest brush of contact with—

A sniggering laugh sounded from several feet away, followed by a female voice saying loudly, "You have no idea. I can't wait to be there tonight!"

Almost before whoever had stopped talking, Quinn pulled herself away from Rachel waiting for the person to appear. Her breath was ragged and her expression was filled with cold anger.

The voice came closer, "It's going to be so much fun, Britt." Santana strutted toward them plastering a huge smile on her lips, a phone in one hand and wriggling her eyebrows. "What are you nerds still doing here?" She shut off the phone stopping in front of Quinn.

Santana's eyes lowered to Quinn's arm that remained around Rachel's waist and steadying her, since she was still reeling from the effects of her fall. Quinn sprung it away the moment she noticed it and said, "We were just leaving."

Rachel's shaky legs were slow to obey. Her blood was pounding in her veins, heightening her senses until she was drowning in this new awareness, and forced her right leg to move forward.

She had almost caught up to Quinn when she heard Santana say, "See you lovebirds later."

Quinn turned around so quick Rachel almost stumbled backwards. "What did you say, Santana?"

Santana continued walking with her back toward them, her hand flung in the air in a waving motion. "You know what I said."

"Quinn," Rachel put a hand on her forearm, intense panic began to set in, rattling her bones. Already she felt Quinn's attention shift from Santana back to hers. "She was probably just joking."

Quinn padded down the hallway, her entire expression lit with amusement easing the frowns around her forehead. "You're right. It's been—what? Two weeks? Santana would've told everyone by now, she wouldn't have kept it for this long."

Rachel's mouth gaped opened and she clenched her fists. "Quinn, we've been together for twenty-three days."

Quinn stopped dead in her tracks, her shoulders sagged and tensed. She turned to look at Rachel with a teasing light in her eyes. "I knew that."

"No, you didn't." Rachel folded her arms, walking pompously pass her, pausing in front of a door to turn the knob.

Without hesitation, Quinn was beside her instantly. "Rach, you don't seriously expect me to remember that do you?"

"Not specifically. But I do expect you to know that it's been _three_ weeks and not_ two_."

There was something extremely desirable about an obeying and frightened Quinn. Rachel saw the hardness in her expression fade away like scenes briefly illuminated by flashes of lightning. Her eyes normally regarded the world with a nothing-can-hurt-me gleam, but when she showed her vulnerability she elicited an aura of lightness and warmth. Rachel had only witnessed this on a rare number of occasions, and to think that something as simple as the thought that she didn't want to hurt Rachel's feelings could elicit such an emotion had her extremely weak at the knees, her stomach was swimming with butterflies. She knew right then that Quinn would do everything to make her happy.

"Rach—" Her voice grew low and raspy, "—don't be mad."

"I'm not," she said cheerily, her hand twisting the door handle. "I'll see you tonight at my poetry reading?"

Quinn eyed the door suspiciously. "What are you doing? It's almost five."

"I told you last night, I have some matters to attend to."

"Now?"

Rachel nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did say after glee."

"How will you be getting to the library tonight?"

"I know how to take public transport."

Quinn refused to drop this argument and peaked inside the room to see Mike, Sam, Artie, Blaine and Kurt sitting next to each other in a straight row, looking extremely bored. "Why are you meeting them? What are you doing?"

Rachel maneuvered their positions until she was in front of the door and tried to block Quinn's view. Their gazes clashed and held. Some invisible force refused to let Rachel break the contact. Quinn's features were as granite-hard and unreadable as ever. Nothing about her expression or body language betrayed her thoughts.

"It's just a little project." Rachel said.

"What kind?"

Rachel glared at her, silently commanding her to took away. Quinn didn't though. In fact, her hazel eyes became more intently focused on Rachel's mouth. Such intense scrutiny unnerved her, but she was used to controlling her actions. Rachel forced her body to obey the will of her mind, not her lust. Quinn's lips looked so delicious. Was Quinn imagining the same thing? Their naked, sweaty bodies? Drugging kisses and pleasure?

Quinn snapped again. "What kind of project?"

Control yourself, Rachel. She told herself.

Rachel squirmed and moved away; fighting a rise of color in her cheeks. The urge to devour Quinn in the middle of the hallway was becoming contagious. She immediately relaxed. "Just a project, Quinn. Now, please, they're waiting for me."

Quinn raised her eyebrow. "Are we keeping secrets now?"

"This isn't a secret," she reasoned. "I—can't tell you—"

"Why not?"

"Because it's a secret?" Rachel played a look of reluctance across her face, as if she didn't want to keep this secret from Quinn but had no choice.

There was a long silence. Rachel felt her throat close, her lips compressed in fear. Quinn stood completely still. She bit her lip and then nodded hesitantly, "Fine. But I'm going to wait for you."

Rachel grasped her arm. "You don't have to do that, Quinn. I don't know how long I'm going to be,"

"I'm not letting you catch the bus."

A wave of excitement crashed through her. She reached up and brought Quinn into a light embrace, sweet and gentle, breathing in Quinn's scent. "I'll try not to make you wait too long." She whispered before pulling away and entering the room.

The boys stood up the instant she closed the door and were all speaking in frantic clusters, she had trouble making out their words. There was a lot of: what the hell; are you insane; what took you so long; I have better things to do. It soon came to an end when it was evident she wasn't going to answer their questions; their frantic voices faded into a dull, unvarying thud.

She began when they took their seats. "As you all know I summoned you here because I have some—"

"Very important business," Mike said. "We know, Rachel. You left a note in my locker saying it was urgent and about Tina and I shouldn't tell her."

Sam was next to raise his voice. "You said Mercedes was in trouble."

Artie said, "You just told me to meet her here."

Blaine simply shrugged. "I came here because Kurt told me to."

Mike covered his mouth and coughed out, "Whipped." And laughed loudly.

Blaine ignored him. "So what is this about, Rachel?"

"Before I begin," she said. "Kurt, why are you here?"

He continued filing his nails and said without looking at her, "I fully intent to see how you go about doing this."

"Doing_ what_?" Sam was growing impatient. "Is this about Mercedes? 'Cause if she's in trouble—"

Rachel held up her hand to stop him from lashing out. "I assure you, Sam, Mercedes is perfectly fine." She reached into her bag and handed the four boys—minus Kurt—sheets of papers and returned to the front of the room. "I called you here because I wish to conduct a survey with you. I will read out the questions and all you need to do is write—" She took out a marker and turned to the board to scribble. "—Question. Then the question number, like so." Facing the front again, she said, "This will be anonymous."

Mike raised his hand. "How is this anonymous? There are only four of us."

"It's very unlikely that I'll know who'll write what," she said. "Shall we begin?"

"Wait," Sam leaned forward, his blue eyes snapping like blue fire. "You mean to tell me that that whole thing you said about Mercedes being in trouble is a lie?"

"I'm sorry I had to do that," Rachel's dark eyes were shining. "I had to lure you here without anyone getting suspicious. And it had to be a secret." Seeing the scorn in Sam's eyes, Rachel added, "But now that you're here you might as well take this survey that would only take up five minutes of your time."

"We've been waiting here for fifteen minutes." Artie shuffled through his bag to retrieve a pen.

Memory engulfed her. It was bad enough that when she was with Quinn, Rachel could hear every soft breath Quinn took, felt her warmth, sensed each throb of her sweet pulse. But to be away from her and still feel Quinn's presence teasing at the edges of her consciousness, the smell of Quinn's heady fragrance all over her skin; it was a little too much for her to handle. "I apologize. Can we start?"

Artie interrupted her. "Where's Finn and Puck?"

"This survey doesn't concern them. Now, can we start?" Her voice was more commanding.

They mumbled reluctant acknowledgements. Rachel straightened, cleared her throat and read from the sheet in front of her. "Question one. If I were a girl, I would kiss Rachel Berry."

Kurt burst out into a fit of laughter and everyone stared at him suspiciously. "Oh my God, you did not just ask that question."

"Kurt!" She yelled. "Please, be quiet."

"What is the meaning of this?" Artie asked, tapping his pen on the paper.

"It's a survey, no questions allowed," she said.

"Rachel," Blaine chimed in. "I'm gay. And I've already kissed you. I shouldn't even be here,"

"Yes, but you were drunk. These questions are referring to you being sober."

"Do I have to do this?" Mike asked. "I have a girlfriend,"

Sam nodded in agreement. "Me too, this is weird. I can't picture myself as a girl either,"

"But it would be hot if you were a girl and you kissed her." Mike added, smiling sheepishly at Sam. Suddenly he sounded like Puck.

Rachel slammed her palm on the table, her patience and frustration rising. Boys were so hard to handle, no wonder she turned gay for Quinn. "Guys! This is important. Quinn won't—" She paused and rephrased. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm dating this person and they won't kiss me."

Artie's mouth flew open. "You're dating someone already? Who? Does Finn know?"

"No, he doesn't know," Rachel lifted herself onto the table. "And I don't intend on telling him yet." She addressed the rest of the boys. "Am I really not that kissable?"

"How long have you two been dating?" Mike asked.

"Twenty-three days, seventeen hours and right now—two minutes and five seconds."

The boys looked at each other and simultaneously bursting into laughter. Blaine and Kurt almost fell off their chairs. Sam had his head on the table and laughing into it. Mike and Artie high fived each other as if it was the best thing they had ever heard. Rachel huffed indignantly and waited until the laughter subsided.

Kurt was the first to speak, wiping a tear, a big grin on his face. "Of course you would know the exact length of your courtship."

"I don't understand," Rachel said, pacing back and forth. "I kissed Finn before we were even _dating_, it was the same with Puck _and_ Jesse. Even you, Blaine."

"I'm sure he wants to kiss you, Rach," Sam offered, a big grin also on his face. "Maybe he's just shy."

Rachel didn't miss the snigger Kurt made when Sam said _he_. She ignored it nonetheless and said, "I guess..."

"Why don't you kiss him?" Artie said. Again, Kurt sniggered and she glared at him. He gave an apologetic smile. Artie continued talking, "He could be waiting for you to kiss him."

"That makes sense," she paced back and forth from the desk to the front door. "Yes, that makes a lot of sense. She—_he_ is shy and is waiting for me to do something. He hasn't kissed a girl before."

"He hasn't kissed a girl before?" Blaine spoke and she realized he hadn't said anything for a long while. "How old is he? Is he really conservative?"

Rachel strolled over and retrieved her papers, shuffling them into her bag and before leaving she said, "Thank you, guys, you have been a big help. Meeting adjourned. See you all tomorrow."

The meeting had gone better than she had thought, although she didn't get a chance to ask all the questions she had spent an hour coming up with, their helpful responses lifted the dark cloud that has been circling her for the past few weeks. There had been a few instances when she thought Quinn was close to kissing her, but at the last minute there was always an interruption. She was frustrated with the lack of contact involving Quinn's lips, it was beyond frustration to think and _dream_ about it but _never_ connecting it with it. She had trouble wrapping it around her head, she had thought that by the second day, the most the _third_ she would have finally locked her lips with Quinn's.

Overhead, the sky was dawning and the wind was rising. The breeze caught a lock of her hair and blew it across her face. She swept it behind her ear in a graceful gesture. Quinn's red beatle was in the parking lot and she beamed when Quinn looked up and waved at her. She sat in the passenger seat and Quinn wasted no time in starting the car and driving off. They had driven several blocks in what seemed to surprise Rachel like a freezing silence before Quinn turned to look at her.

"Did you have fun?" Quinn blew out a breath, her fingers clenched the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I don't mean to keep it a secret—"

"Rach, it's fine." She admitted, breaking to a stop in front of a traffic light. She turned only her face to Rachel and it was shadowed by the light flowing in behind her from the streetlight outside. "When you're ready. I know we've just started so it's irrational to expect you to tell me everything."

Rachel always recognized the wariness in Quinn's voice whenever she referred to their relationship. She had never once said the word _dating_. She was struck by a fear and sadness that Quinn's resistance and acceptance of being with her may never vanish. She felt confused; worse, rejected.

"Hey. Change of subject. What are you reading tonight?" Quinn asked when Rachel hadn't said anything.

"Just a few poems." She gave herself a mental shake to force herself back into the present.

Rachel pressed her face to the window and watched the pine trees whiz by as they approached the circular drive into the parking area. The great grey stone building loomed before them. The red roof rose high, a magnificent silhouette against the dark night. Quinn seemed full of excitement when she got out of the car; it reminded Rachel of a little girl about to be presented with a fabulous toy. Rachel emerged far more slowly, suddenly feeling a little terrified. This is the first time anyone had come to her readings, it was her private sanctuary. It was surreal; Quinn being here, Quinn holding her hand. Like a dream where she was naked and standing in front of the whole school in the hallway. She just forgot to get dressed. She was dreaming, she told herself, and she could wake up.

Quinn stopped suddenly and turned to her. "Are you okay?"

Inside Rachel felt torn up and confused. "I don't know."

"What's wrong?" The corner of Quinn's mouth lifted in an unwilling smile.

"It's just—no one's ever come to watch me read before."

Quinn tried to understand where she was coming from. "And that's a problem because...?"

Rachel turned to look at the elderly men and women seated in the corner of the library waiting for her. "It's intimate, to say the least. My dads are the only ones to come here and that took _months_ of persuasion. You _offered_ to be here. _Willingly_."

"I guess you're really special to me then."

Again, with the simple statements that made her melt. Rachel felt her chest swell up helplessly with love, overflowing her senses.

She bounced over to her faithful listeners while Quinn took a seat at the back. The moment they saw her, everyone smiled and greeted her happily. She sat calmly in her high-back chair at the front of the crowd, took out her notebook, gazing at Quinn. They were like two stars blinking at each other in the night sky, so bright, so eager to touch and become one.

"I have a poem I want to read to someone that is very special to me." Rachel started. Opening to the first page, then taking in a deep breath, she read, "Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue," she paused to glance at Quinn. From her position, her hazel eyes were glistening. "The flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots intertwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage."

•••

**October 22nd, 2011**

Rachel sat quietly watching Quinn's shoulders stiff, her cheeks glowed vivid red, her muscles were bunched and ready to spring into action. An aura of fury radiated from her. Miss Pillsbury—behind her desk—paled and blinked at Rachel as if she were insane. Maybe she was, but her reason for booking in an appointment with the school counselor was simple: desperation. She did, however, spend the better half of her night carefully typing out a counselor-student confidential contract to protect certain communications between herself, Quinn and Miss Pillsbury regarding their relationship. Mostly just to make sure Miss Pillsbury kept their relationship a secret. She was happy to oblige and signed it without asking any questions.

Miss Pillsbury squeezed a small amount of sanitary gel and rubbed it in her hands. She straightened, leaning slightly forward onto the desk and asked Quinn, "What are you thinking?"

"That this is insane." Rachel could tell that Quinn had to swallow a few curses and was trying hard not to lash out. "I could be doing something better than spend my independent study hour in here."

"You don't use it wisely anyway," Rachel said confidently. "It is a study period, yet I see you mostly using it to browse through tumblr."

Quinn's lips pressed together and she almost screamed, "Rachel, we don't need to see a counselor. We've been together for less than a month."

"That is, in fact, very true. However, the issue is that it's been twenty-eight days and we have yet to kiss."

Quinn jerked a hand through her hair, her agitation manifesting itself in the brisk way she moved. "Is this what it's about? Because of a _kiss_?"

"That has yet to happen." Rachel remained calm. One of them had to.

"I don't exactly have a pamphlet for this," Miss Pillsbury said, breaking their gazes. "I do have this one." She reached into her drawer and handed one to each girl: _So you're a lesbian. Now what?_

Quinn crumpled the pamphlet in her fists and sat back. "I'm not discussing this with the counselor when we haven't even talked."

Rachel slowly slipped the pamphlet across the table back to the teacher. "Miss Pillsbury, I know you mean well. I don't even know if I'm a lesbian, I'm sure Quinn feels the same way." She chanced a glance at Quinn from the corner of her eye. She had sunk lower into her chair. "Quinn's the first girl I've ever had extremely strong feelings for. The first person, period."

The teacher nodded in understanding, cupping her hands and resting it on the table. "Perhaps that's why it's difficult for the two of you to convey your feelings in a physical manner. This is the first time you have both been in a relationship with a girl; not having any idea what to do or how to act. New relationships require an amount of time for adjustment."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say, and the crazy heat that had goaded them for the better part of their almost four-week romance vanished like it had never existed. They both sat up, shifting slightly away from each other. Miss Pillsbury looked from one girl to the other. It wasn't an awkward silence, exactly; Rachel was preoccupied with her own concerns and could tell that Quinn was too. They had spent a month talking, how much time is an appropriate amount of time for adjustment?

To say that Rachel hadn't tried to kiss Quinn in the past few days is a lie. They couldn't seem to get the timing perfect. It was a series of interruptions one after another. Two days ago while in the school book depository behind the American History reference area, Rachel was so sure it was going to happen: there were shy glances and knowing smiles, and up until the instant Quinn accidentally knocked over some books to get closer to Rachel, it had been the perfect moment.

Had, being the key word. If it _had_ have happened, if they _had_ kissed, they wouldn't be in this position and Rachel wouldn't be fearing for her life at the thought of what Quinn was going to do to her. Again, her justification for this is desperation. Surely, they must be doing something wrong?

Finally, the teacher ventured, "Have you two been on a date?" They both shook their heads and Miss Pillsbury said, "Every relationship starts with a date and it blossoms from there."

Through those miraculous words, Rachel beamed. "You're right. We need to go on a date." She turned and placed both her hands on top of Quinn's surprisingly cold ones. "Quinn, this weekend?"

Snatching her hand from underneath Rachel's, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and stormed out of the room. Rachel gave Miss Pillsbury an apologetic smile and left the room. Quinn's pace quickened and she didn't turn around to see if Rachel had followed her. She entered an empty classroom a few seconds behind Quinn. Once inside Rachel jumped in fright the moment the door shut with a loud slam behind her. With every second that passed, something murderous grew in those hazel eyes, a gleam that belied her casual pose. Quinn's teeth grind together, she even thought she heard Quinn's jawbone crack. That murderous gleam had branched from her hazel eyes and now consumed her expression.

"Why would you put me in that position?" Quinn asked and Rachel's breath suspended. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? I don't want to talk to some counselor about our relationship, especially the topic being _kissing_."

"Quinn, I'm sorry. I should've asked for your—" She tried to ground out but Quinn interrupted.

"Yes, that would have been a good idea to _ask_." Quinn drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The beams of light that couched her face gave her a menacing yet angelic ambiance.

Rachel tried not to appear fearful. She began with the truth. "I want to kiss you. Like, _really_ kiss you. I'm growing kind of impatient just thinking about it and how you haven't made any moves to do just that."

"You have got to be kidding?" Quinn sniggered. "I have been trying, something always just comes up. You don't think I'm getting frustrated? Your lips are practically teasing me every time I even glance at them."

"You seem so calm about it that I—"

"Rachel..." She whispered.

Then, Rachel saw it, the anguish shattering her gaze, as if Quinn simply couldn't fight it any longer. The defeat as the walls finally crumpled and she saw what was underneath. Rachel didn't know what she expected Quinn to do, but what she did wasn't it. Without warning, Quinn pulled Rachel into her chest and their lips came crashing together.

It was as simple as that. All fears put to rest, all doubts removed.

What Rachel felt was not merely passion, but a bruising tenderness and a love so strong it made her shake inside. It would have been frightening in its intensity, except that while she was with Quinn, she wasn't afraid of anything. This was where she belonged, and she had found it at last. Quinn was home.

Quinn pulled back slightly and Rachel could feel her trembling. "Happy?" She whispered against Rachel's lips.

"Extremely." And she drew Quinn back down again.

Her hands raised lightly on the back of Quinn's neck where her blonde hair waved over Rachel's fingers. Rachel was torn between conflicting emotions of tenderness and urgency. Her mouth was moving in response to Quinn's as a sensual warmth began spreading over her. Quinn's hands that had been holding her easily began slow, steady movements that bought Rachel closer to her. The melting of her soft curls against Quinn's lean, toned body made the tentative kiss much hotter. There was fiery demand in the kiss now. Rachel surrendered to it, enjoying every second of what was happening.

Rachel's fingers intertwined more tightly around Quinn's neck as she went on her tiptoes to get closer. Quinn's mouth began to press more kisses on her face and neck, and she responded to it with whispering gasps of pleasure. The growing heat of their bodies was intensely arousing; Rachel was bathing in it, both the joy she sensed in Quinn and the delicious answering surge in herself. Quinn's love shone through her, lighting every dark place in her soul like the sun. She trembled with pleasure, with love, and with longing.

Quinn drew back slowly as if she could not bear for them to be parted, and they looked into each other's eyes with wondering joy. Quinn stroked her hair with a touch so light she could scarcely feel it, she wondered whether Quinn was afraid she would break in her tight grip.

"You still owe me a date." Rachel said, finding her voice with some difficulty. It was odd to talk after being silent so long.

"Only if it involves lots of kissing."

Rachel grinned widely. "Kissing is all we'll be doing."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for taking the time to read this story and for all the reviews.<strong>

**Also, does anyone know if Rachel can drive? I haven't kept up with glee this season, and from what I've seen Rachel's never actually been behind the wheel of a car. It's for a future plot!**


	7. Chapter 7

**If it's not obvious by now, I just want to say that this story is slightly AU. Thanks for all the reviews and kind words. Also, there's about 8000 words of fluff in this chapter because I was feeling extra generous! Happy reading!**

* * *

><p><em>If we climbed the highest tree top and you said you couldn't climb back down<br>__I would build the finest tree house for our new life above the ground  
><em>_And when you smile at me so sweetly, I love what happens in your eyes  
><em>_When they open up to me, my darling, it's all I need and it's so right  
><em>_'Cause I believe that you are all I want  
><em>_'Cause I believe that you and I belong_

—Avanlanche City: You and I

**•••**

**February 1st, 2016**

Quinn tried in vain to keep track of the days. Her time was measured now in journeys between longing and fulfillment the pace of which might vary from merciless speed to agonizing stillness. Eventually, the days became meaningless. All she felt was pain. Sharp, agonizing pain. The first time it happened, she thought to herself, I'd survived the extraction of broken glass. I'd survived broken bones and ribs and my body's impact to a car. But this—the pain was too sharp, too acute, spreading from one section of her body to another. She had read about stress cardiomyopathy, better known as broken heart syndrome. The trigger for the syndrome is the body's sudden, massive release of adrenaline, which can stun the bottom half of the pumping chamber of the heart, in effect paralyzing it and requiring the top portion of the chamber to work much harder in order to compensate for the loss of blood.

She left her apartment only rarely. When hunger drove her out, she'd eat ravenously at some of New York's finest restaurants. Not that she could afford to squander her money in any way. She had already used up most of her savings on the insurance claims and medical bills. After she'd eaten her fill, she'd walk straight back to her apartment and turn on the television to numb her racing thoughts. She felt as though she had no energy left to continue with her life. She no longer cared for her career, making something of herself. Her life stopped the moment she walked out on Rachel and she didn't know how to pick herself up. The only thing she had been taught to do was—keep walking. There was nothing left for her to live for.

Food was her only comfort, her only source of emotion.

Often it was too much trouble to eat. She lost weight, hips and ribs prodding from under her skin. Every part of her ached, legs and back and abdomen, her raw flesh. At no time in her life had Quinn felt so entirely her body's citizen, yet at the same time her detachment had never been greater. She felt like a spectator, observing her physical self in baffled amazement as if it were a violent, stricken creature she were nursing through a fit. Phrases she'd hear or would float to her mind were: I've ruined everything; Rachel will be better off without me; we were going to get a divorce anyway; we married too young. They were all cliché's that provoked her scorn, but not her skepticism.

From the depths of sleep she reached for Rachel; mornings she'd imagine to be woken up to Rachel's caress, afterward collapsing back into sleep without a problem.

Turning on her phone, notifications poured in all at once: Santana, Brittany, Puck, Kurt, her mom, Leroy and Hiram, and Rachel. Ignoring them all, she listened to the one she was hoping would call her back,

"Quinn, it's me. I got your message, so things are finally coming to an end for you and that girl? I'll be in New York on the 1st. Call me to arrange something."

Hitting the redial button, the call was answered in three rings. Russell's voice boomed back at her. "I told you it was going to end, wasn't I? What do you need me to do to finally end it for good?"

Goose bumps broke over her arms and legs. Russell's short laugh and satisfying voice sounded like static on the line. The sounds stung, yet even though she wanted to she couldn't pull the phone away from her ear.

"I don't want to go into details." She said with a bored and disdainful tone, "Can you meet me in half an hour?"

There was a slight pause and then, with a musical tone, Russell said, "Text me the address."

After texting Russell the address, she forced herself out of bed. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she managed to stay upright. Her movements slow and halting, she maneuvered down the hallway stopping in front of what used to be _their_ bedroom. She found that she couldn't spend any more than five minutes in the room before it suffocated her with what she had lost. She remembered every moment they had spent in that bedroom watching movies, falling asleep with the television on, Rachel would sing to her, she'd read to Rachel, most of all, their appetite for one another sharpened with the days, until sometimes it seemed impossible for them to not crumple helplessly naked on the queen-sized bed that was their home.

For weeks the sofa had become her safe place in the wildfire. It wasn't comfortable, but it was safe. It allowed her to sleep and eat and everything in-between.

Coming out of the shower, she saw herself in the wall of mirrors. Her neck and chest were covered with red blotches, a rash that had broken out because of her nerves. Her face was so flushed she looked as though she had a terrific fever. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair, still wet from the shower, drooped down the side of her head. She looked like a woman in the midst of a moment of sadness.

As she got dressed and tried to cover her sadness with make-up, feelings raced from anger to outrage to self-pity. She was hurt, mortally wounded. She feared that people would recognize her in the street as the woman who betrayed her wife. She imagined the vicious and arrogant reporters and paparazzi gathering around her to chant: "Quinn Fabray left her wife after three months because she was too scared to be by her side! What a joke!"

She walked straight out of her building, not registering the noise and traffic in the busy street, and claimed the first yellow cab she saw. The driver was smoking a cigarette and he quickly ground the remains into the asphalt before ducking into his seat.

"You can smoke in the cab," Quinn muttered absent-mindedly. "It's alright by me. In fact, I could use one myself."

"Sorry, lady, I can get a fine."

Quinn didn't even hear him. She looked out the window. An old lady, the kind you rarely saw in public anymore, her hair dyed chemical blue, wheeling an out-sized shopping cart, was standing blinking at the lights.

"Where to?" The man had been patiently waiting for her to speak.

She apologized and gave him her destination. Her fingers were tapping against the vinyl covering the seat. She didn't smoke, but she could really use one right now. Anything to relax herself. Why was this country so over-regulated? She was aware that nothing seemed to be penetrating her consciousness. The buildings, the other cars and vehicles on the road, the driver, the sky, the city. It was as if she were under the effect of some drug but there was no reciprocal pleasure permitted to counter the loss of what she could only describe as her intelligence. She felt as if she was floating, incapable of decision.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

She glanced at the reflection of his eyes in the rear-view mirror. She was numb, she couldn't think. Was it from the ads? That independent movie she did? Or was it because she has been photographed next to Rachel countless times? Her mind cleared, irritability smacking away the fog, and she snapped, "No. Concentrate on your job." She was in no mood to sign autographs.

His face tightened and he focused on the route ahead. A few minutes later, she received an illicit thrill of guilt and said sweetly,

"I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'm feeling a little uneasy at the moment. My marriage is ending."

The man looked at her again in his mirror. "It doesn't have to end if you don't want it to."

"You think so?"

Quinn saw confusion spread across his face and he turned his eyes away from her again.

"I feel like I have to do this. Rachel would be happier without me, we married too young." Her eyes were focused on the rear-view mirror. She could see a corner of his face, but his eyes were averted. He didn't say anything and she focused her attention out the window.

They sat in silence as the cab weaved fitfully down the clogged city streets. Nearing the restaurant she realized that she was red-faced. She felt ashamed and then furious. Was he judging her?

She leaned forward and gave him the money and she mumbled, "Keep the change," before walking into the restaurant.

Russell was already sitting in the beer garden. He stood up when he spotted her and gestured her to take her seat. There was no kiss or a big hug. Kisses and hugs weren't in her forte when it came to _him_. However, for this occasion she did not want to wallow in spite or resentment of her father. The glue that bound them together was certainly not history. The glue was her mother. They both knew this. If it wasn't for Judy's pestering, she knew Russell wouldn't be in her life at all. An open bottle of wine was at the table and Quinn poured herself a glass.

"I take it that your mother knows nothing of this arrangement?" He sipped from his wine glass and eyed her cautiously.

"No," she replied swiftly. "I would like to keep it that way."

"What do you want, Quinn? I thought I would be the last person you'd come to for a divorce from your loving _wife_." He said viciously. The word spat on the tip of his tongue.

Quinn said nothing of the situation with Rachel. She tried to remain composed and seemingly serene. Quinn had seen several lawyers in the past few weeks, all of which costed her more to see them for a half-hour session just to ask the simple question of how long it would take to finalize a divorce than it would have been to go straight to the man she knew could finalize it in half that time. Each lawyer had said six to nine months. She almost dropped dead on her spot every time she heard that phrase. Her father, however, was a man of his profession. He had cheated on her mother but somehow ended up with most of their expenses and assets in the divorce. At least he was kind enough to have left them the house.

He explained that he could finalize the divorce in two months and that a court meeting won't be necessary if Rachel complies. He asked little questions regarding her life with Rachel, just enough to know what to write in the divorce documents and during the meeting with Rachel's lawyer. From time to time he stared across the table at her, his eyes taking on a glazed, far-off look like someone whose eyes had turned inward and who was really looking at some image or memory from his past. Between courses he listened to her, providing his full attention—something she had never expected him to do, but then again, Quinn knew that he was elated to know that she was getting a divorce and he would be the one helping her achieve it.

The little she ate, she ate because she didn't want to draw attention to her state. Their longest conversation came when Quinn cited irreconcilable differences.

"I don't believe that." Russell said, lowering his fingers and drummed a mindless beat on the lace tablecloth.

"You don't have to believe me." Quinn insisted.

"You're telling me that the Berry girl has agreed to this?"

"Her name's Rachel." Quinn gritted her teeth. "I don't expect you to understand anything about my life anymore." After a quick pause, she said, "I want this done as quickly as possible and without _any_ media attention involved."

Russell shook his head in mock derision. "You know, Quinn, just when I thought you couldn't be saved by the Lord, you surprise me."

"This has nothing to do with that," she bit back angrily. "You have no right to judge me regarding my lifestyle when you are disobeying the ninth commandment on a daily basis. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor, remember that one, _dad_?" Her voice was devoid of any emotion. "You basically lie everyday because your career requires you to."

In an instant, he grabbed her wrist and twisted his lip into a scowl. "My job is based on _evidence_. You live your life in sin."

Quinn remained undeterred. "So you just ignore all the evidence, is that what you're saying? You represent guilty, rich men because the innocent can't pay you enough."

He leaned back in his seat and refilled his empty wine glass. "You've always been very smart, Quinn. Very observant. But you don't know anything about my career so don't sit there and assume that you do."

"I've read enough about the men you represent to know enough about _you_. Men who've committed sexual assaults, rapes, burglary, fraud are set free with a slap on the wrist. I'm surprised you haven't represented anyone who's committed murder. Perhaps that's next on your to-do list?"

"Who knows?" He shrugged, signally the end of the conversation. "I'm representing my gay sinful daughter, anything could happen." He took out his wallet and placed a one-hundred dollar bill on the table. "I'm going to send your soon to be ex-wife divorce documents this afternoon—" When he saw the surprise on her face, he said, "You want this done quickly, don't you?" She didn't respond and he continued, "I'll give you a call as soon as she sends it back with her signature."

"What if she doesn't?" Her heart sped up at the thought.

"Then the matter will be taken to court and the final decision will be made by a judge." He drank the rest of his wine and walked out without so much a wave at her.

Still reeling from Russell's words, she grabbed her bag and quickly stormed out of the restaurant, leaving the heat of the afternoon behind, along with the trees and birds and colorful flowers that encompassed the streets. She drifted the streets of New York. Everywhere she looked she saw couples ranging from the teenage to the very old. They would smile at her in greeting and she would force a smile in return. She couldn't help wondering if this was a sign from God to stop before it's too late. Was this what she and Rachel could continue to have if they were to stay together? Or was He just mocking her for making the worst mistake of her life?

She found herself walking west instead of east, then north, zigzagging through the wet side streets. Water squished in her shoes, her face burned with fever. It had started raining. She knew vaguely that she should get out of the raining weather, dry her feet, prevent pneumonia, but she felt a strong pull to go north and west.

It wasn't until she emerged onto Downtown Manhattan that she realized where she was going. She stood in front of their very first apartment, dingy white streaked with rain, water dripping from the connecting drains. This was their first home. The first time she'd come home and find Rachel singing while making dinner, the first time she waited up for Rachel because she had been at rehearsals, the first time Rachel had broken the television set because she was trying to rearrange their furniture. She saw their windows, the window they'd look out into the city. There was a light in the apartment.

Her heart came to life for a moment, beating with hope as she studied the names by the buzzers, imagining Rachel opening the door, her surprise, and the warmth of the apartment, the ceiling crumbling, the piles of magazines, a great movie on television, how welcomed Rachel would be to see her. _Masaoka, Benoit/Rosnik, P. Henderson_. But no Berry-Fabray.

She knew by her disappointment what she had really expected. That they would still be here. That she could go in and find Rachel reading her Barbra Streisand biography, and Quinn could wrap herself in beside Rachel and this would all be a dream that she could tell Rachel about. They hadn't been in a car accident, Rachel had not lost her memories, they were so very happy together. In that apartment Rachel would make her a cup of tea and laugh at the dream she had had, telling her, baby, you have ridiculous dreams. Quinn would kiss her, hug her, laugh _with_ her.

But they were gone. It wasn't a dream. The door was locked, and the curtains Rachel had loved so much were now replaced by blinds on the window.

Quinn sank down on the pavement. She shut her eyes and tried to pray, teeth clattering. But God must have gone away, she'd lost him just as she lost Rachel. Or maybe there was no God on her side of the grass. Maybe he had never been there to begin with.

She pulled out her phone to see a voicemail notification from Rachel. Giving in to temptation and throwing away all her instincts, she listened to it, "Quinn, I got the papers—"

That was all she heard before she vomited the contents in her stomach on the sidewalk.

**•••**

**October 26th, 2011**

After another excruciating Saturday morning of Cheerios practice and the wrath of Sue Sylvester, Quinn couldn't wait to see Rachel. She managed to dodge all questions from Santana about any plans she had and ran out of the showers before Santana found her again. She drove to the riverbank where they had first met and went to meet Rachel at their spot. Rachel wasn't there yet, so she threw an old blanket across the grass, put the basket of food she had prepared on it, and then sat in the middle, feeling cheerful about their first date. It was a beautiful day, the park was thick with shade trees, it was close to empty which meant no interruptions from anybody.

It wasn't their typical first date. First of all, she didn't pick Rachel up at her front door—only because Quinn wasn't ready to meet her fathers. Secondly, there wasn't going to be any movie or dinner, but rather watching other citizens of Lima roam pass them as they ate lunch. And third—

She saw Rachel come into view through the trees, following the curving gravel path. She was wearing her red—horse? Dog? Rabbit?—sweater again, but this time she had on a red and black checked skirt that floated when the breeze blew. Her hair was curled loosely around her shoulders, but her stride was long and flowing as she came toward Quinn, and the sun picked up glints of gold in her hair, and Rachel smiled at her as soon as she drew closer, and it suddenly seemed Quinn had died and gone to heaven.

"Hi," Rachel said, grinning at her. "Did you wait long?"

"Hi," Quinn said and shook her head. "You're on time, as usual."

"I praise myself on punctuality." Rachel bit her lip and the breeze picked up again, rustling the trees and lifting the edge of her skirt, floating it closer to Quinn.

"You praise yourself on a lot of things." Quinn teased.

Rachel looked around hesitantly at first, and Quinn panicked that something might have been wrong. Before Quinn had time to ask what was worrying her, Rachel leaned forward and kissed her softly, her mouth fretting over her own so perfectly that Quinn trembled. Quinn definitely knew she was in heaven.

Rachel made herself comfortable on the blanket and peeked into the basket Quinn had bought with her. "How was Cheerios practice?" She asked, oblivious to the trance she had created in Quinn.

Quinn cleared her throat and moved her eyes up to meet Rachel's. She should not have been trying to figure out the color of Rachel's bra. "It was—good."

"Just good?" She took out two cups and her eyes lit up. "Quinn, you bought donuts!"

"It's for dessert." She took it out of Rachel's hands and placed it on the side.

Before she could say anything, Rachel said, "I hope they're vegan."

Quinn blinked. "What?"

Rachel tucked her legs under her and caught sight of Quinn's shocked expression. "Many donuts contain animal lard, milk and eggs."

"Why are you vegan again?" Quinn asked, slightly perplexed. She had went out of her way to buy Krispy Kreme Doughnuts only to find out that in the future she must go further out of her way to buy _vegan_ donuts.

"Countless reasons," Rachel said plopping a strawberry into her mouth. Quinn wanted to be the strawberry. "A well-balanced plant-based diet is more in line with the nutritional needs in order to keep one healthy. It's low in saturated fats and cholesterol, high in protein and fiber." Rachel elaborated further and Quinn _really_ wished she was that strawberry. "Industrial farming causes lots of water pollution, and many people argue that the grains used to feed animals would be put to better use to feed people. And lastly, eating meat is simply cruel. Did you know that some animals are specially raised to be slaughtered? Animals are just like humans, they have feelings too. Just because they can't talk or act the way we do does not mean—"

Quinn kissed her, gently, wanting to remember every second this time, the way Rachel felt, soft and sweet and tasting of strawberries. Rachel sucked in her breath and then kissed Quinn back, and the voice in Quinn's head said _this one_. She forgot her good intentions, she forgot they were in public, she forgot that there were people walking pass, and she cradled Rachel's face in her hand and lost herself in her daisy scent.

When she broke the kiss, chocolate eyes were half-closed and her cheeks were flushed. "We're in public." Rachel said, breathless, and Quinn said, "I know," and kissed her again, harder this time, feeling Rachel's hand clutch the front of her dress. A moment later something smacked into the back of her head and knocked her into Rachel, who jerked away feeling the pain and said, "Ouch. That hurt."

"Santana!" Quinn yelled, swinging around to face her friend. "What are you doing here?"

"You two lovebirds are kissing in public now?" She smirked.

Brittany almost fell into Quinn's lap trying to pull both girls into a hug. "I'm so happy. We can double date!"

Rachel rubbed the light bump that had possibly grown due to the knock on her head. "I'm confused. Did you tell them?" She asked Quinn.

Quinn didn't get a chance to answer. "San and I already know." Brittany picked up a strawberry and put it in her mouth.

"_How_?" Quinn said, sounding dazed. "If you tell anyone—"

"Oh, please," Santana sneered and sat down beside her. "If I was going to tell everyone I wouldn't have waited a month. The two of you have been eye-sexing and caressing each other with those sweet, little, sickening touches I could've outed you in less than two minutes."

"How did you know?" Quinn snapped the sandwich she had made specifically for Rachel out of Santana's hands. "Make your own sandwich."

"Did you even hear what I said? I know _everything_, Q. You can't hide from me."

Talking with her mouth full of strawberries, Brittany said, "She does, Quinn. She knew what was going on at Puck's party and she's been stalking you—"

"I have _not_ been stalking." Santana protested.

It fell on deaf ears, Brittany ignored her. "She followed you to the riverbank a few weeks ago to meet Rachel and then watched when the two of you were really sad, and then when Rachel sung that song to Quinn in glee club everything came together and Santana was there when you were going to kiss Rachel in the auditorium so she called you to mess with your head and also interrupted you that time you two were about to kiss hallway. So yeah," she turned to Santana. "If that's not stalking then I don't know what stalking means." She ate another strawberry. "These are really sweet."

Quinn glared at Santana but she couldn't act on her anger. The light strokes Rachel were running down her arm were extremely soothing.

"Thanks for keeping it a secret, B." Santana said.

"No problem, San. I did a good job, didn't I? You said not to tell them but now that they know that we know I think we should tell them."

Quinn swallowed hard and sighed. This definitely was not their typical first date.

"So you're going to keep this secret for us?" Rachel's voice was low. Quinn felt Rachel shaking beside her.

"Like I said, Dwarf, if—"

"Hey!" Quinn snapped.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Like I said. If I was going to say something I wouldn't have waited this long. Besides," she paused and eyed Brittany's lips. "Quinn's been less high-strung since you've come along. Her anger must be directed at your inability to shut your mouth other than normal people for once."

"If you say anything like that one more time—" Quinn's eyes were hot and she was breathing faster, too.

"What, Quinn? You're going to make me run fifty laps? Just because you're back on the Cheerios doesn't mean Coach Sylvester has exactly appointed you head cheerleader. I can't help that your girlfriend dresses like your grandmother and she's an easy tease." Santana pondered, no longer threatened by Quinn.

"That's it!" Quinn lost her patience and stood up so quickly Santana stumbled in her position. She wasn't able to react the way she had planned though. Rachel stood in front of her, blocking her view of Santana and holding her arms to her side. Quinn smelt daisies and felt a rush of pleasure so intense, she almost sighed.

"San," Brittany slapped her girlfriend's thigh. "Don't be mean to Rachel."

"This is boring," Santana stood up, bringing Brittany with her. "Let's leave these wickedly, boring and mismatch lovebirds to their picnic."

Brittany frowned and her lips drooped. "I wanna stay and eat all the strawberries." She picked another one. "They taste like you, Santana."

"That's a vision I do not want," Quinn said. "You can have it all now." Quinn pushed the tupperware closer to Brittany who happily obliged.

"Thanks, Quinn. You're a great friend!" She perked and once again pulled Quinn and Rachel into a hug. "I'm so happy you two are getting your lady kisses on. If you need any advice I'm always here to help."

They watched the two girls walk down the gravel path, get into Santana's car and drive off. Rachel sighed heavily and resumed her position on the blanket, tugging Quinn's hand to pull her down. "That just topped off a great first date."

"Are you disappointed?" Quinn asked, wringing her hands together on her lap. She could imagine Santana looking gratified, her teeth flashing boastfully that she knew something no one else did. Santana had always been able to turn her emotions on and off, to change from one to another as easily as she changed channel's on a television set.

"Of course not," Rachel leaned in to kiss her cheek. "It was never your typical first date to start off with. If you haven't noticed, you didn't pick me up."

Quinn lifted an eyebrow. "You're never going to let that go, are you?" Rachel shook her head and Quinn added, "I think you should let it go."

"You may be correct but my intuition disagrees." Rachel snuggled her head against Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn loved that Rachel could turn a simple _no_ into an intelligent and adept sentence so effortlessly. "I think you should take that back." Quinn turned her head to murmur against Rachel's throat.

"I'm not scared of you, Quinn." Rachel poked her shoulder.

"Really?" Quinn flung her down across the blanket, tickling her until she shrieked.

"Alright, alright, I take it back! Stop it, you'll kill me."

"Good." Quinn growled and covered Rachel's mouth in a quick peck.

Grabbing moments with Rachel at school was surprisingly easy. There was hardly a day they couldn't snatch some time away from their classes. At night Rachel would slip out of her house and they'd meet half away, sitting by the benches for a short while before returning to their desolate bedrooms and falling asleep to the thought of one another.

"What is it?" Rachel's eyes saw something right through her.

"Nothing." Quinn pulled her close. She didn't know how to tell Rachel that her knees dissolved every night when she'd see Rachel running toward her, laughing and breathless. There were no words. All she could do was show her.

"Quinn," she laughed when Quinn's arms wrapped around her. "I can't breathe."

Quinn had never been with a woman before, that much was obvious, she had never thought of herself being with a woman, but that wasn't why Rachel turned her bones into water. That was just Rachel herself.

"You know," Quinn said picking up the box of donuts. "Since this already isn't a typical date, we should have dessert first."

"I'm not eating those donuts," Rachel tore her eyes away from it. "It'll go against everything I believe in."

"This is not just a donut," Quinn began tearing two pieces under Rachel's eyes, the chocolate icing and glaze breaking like frost, the tender pastry pulling apart in shreds. "This is a chocolate-iced Krispy Kreme glazed. This is the caviar of donuts, the Dom Perignon of donuts, the Mercedes-Benz of donuts."

Rachel licked her lips. "I had no idea you knew so much about pastry." She tried to pull back further, but the wind blew her skirt over to Quinn again, and this time Quinn moved her knee to pin it down.

Quinn broke a bite-size piece from one of the halves. "Come on, I respect your veganism and all, but really, no animals were _actually_ harmed in the making of this delicious donut."

"Cows were milked—"

"That's true, but how do you know it hurts a cow to be milked? Its nature, baby. A cow's nature is to produce milk in order for us to have healthy and strong bones."

Rachel blinked a few times and Quinn realized what she had said. "You just called me baby."

Quinn ignored the fire burning in the pit of her stomach. "I guess I did. Now try it."

"Stay away from me, Quinn." Rachel clamped her lips shut.

"Rach, I'm not asking you to eat a _whole_ donut."

Rachel shut her eyes, screwing up her face as she did. Quinn said, "Oh, that's adult." She reached out and pinched Rachel's nose, and when she opened her mouth to protest, Quinn popped the donut in.

"Oh, God." Rachel said, her face relaxed as the pastry melted in her mouth, her smile curling across her face.

Quinn relaxed too, and thought, feeding Rachel is like getting her drunk. Rachel swallowed and opened her eyes to see Quinn holding out another piece. "Come on, baby."

"No," Rachel said pulling back. "No, no, _no._"

"You say that a lot. But the look in your eyes says you want it."

"What I want and what I can't have are two different things." Rachel leaned back further, stretching her skirt, her eyes were on the donut. "Haven't you ever heard no means no, Quinn?"

"Okay." Quinn sat back and bit into the donut while Rachel watched, the sugar rush distracting her for a moment until Rachel bit her lip, her strong white teeth denting the softness there. Quinn's heart picked up speed, and Rachel shook her head.

"I don't like you very much right now." She leaned forward to pull her skirt from under Quinn's knee. "Would you get off—" She began. Quinn took the opportunity to pop another piece of donut in Rachel's mouth and watched her lips close over the sweetness.

Rachel's face was beautifully blissful, her mouth soft and pouted, her full lower lip glazed the icing, and as she teased the last of the chocolate from her lip, Quinn heard a rushing in her ears. Before Rachel could open her eyes, Quinn leaned in to kiss her, tasting the chocolate and the heat of her mouth. Rachel froze for a moment and then kissed her back, sweet and hesitant, blanking out all coherent thought. Quinn let the taste and the scent and the warmth of the other girl wash over her, drowning in her, and when Rachel pulled back, Quinn almost fell in her lap.

Rachel sat across from her, her sweater rising and falling under quick breaths, her dark eyes flashing, wide awake, her lush lips parted, and she spoke, "_More._"

Quinn was breathless and dizzy and aching with lust. She held Rachel's eyes, looking just as dazed as she did. She reached for the pastry but Rachel stopped her,

"No. More of _you._" And grabbed the front of Quinn's dress to pull her closer, kissing her harder, her hand was resting on the back of Rachel's head, and this time she fell into Rachel, glitter exploding behind her eyelids.

**•••**

**February 3rd, 2016**

Quinn awoke with a dream still freshly sketched in her imagination. She was walking with Rachel, holding her hand and her brown hair was tied up into a bun. She preferred Rachel's hair like that, simple yet elegant. She wanted to tell Rachel she approved of the style but found that she could not speak. They were walking through a cold, sun-starved cityscape that she did not recognize. It was a little like what she had imagined Zagreb to be like if she were ever to go there. Rachel's grip on her hand was firm and she felt safe. There was no one else in the city. Rachel was pregnant, she was huge. They were happy.

Sometimes she would forget—just for a minute—what her life has become. She'd dance to the music she'd play at night, she'd emerge herself in guilty pleasure television; for a minute everything but her immediate surroundings would slip from her mind. But something always brought her back—jerked her, like discovering she'd overslept—and Quinn would remember that her present life was nothing but the aftermath of something vanished. Her life shrank even when she fought to hold it still—clinging to the seventeen year-old Rachel she had fallen in love with in high school, clinging to _her_ eighteen year-old self. High school was simple. Rachel's breath on her neck, ribs splayed beneath her like a fan, and suddenly a different world seemed to offer itself to Quinn, bones and flesh, all she wanted was this—Yes, she thought, this was enough—but already it was starting to slip, she was slipping from Rachel even as she clung on, something she needed to remember like distant footsteps in the corners of her mind.

She sat up quickly when she heard a key rattling from the front door. She heard coughing and her heart hammered in her chest. She could hardly get her body to react, her limps refused to give in. Another rattle and then another. Quinn hauled her muscles along out of the sofa and before she got to the door, her mother pushed through almost knocking her to the ground.

"Quinn, what are you doing with that newspaper?" Judy looked at her in surprise.

Quinn tried to speak, then halted in frustration. "Mom! What are you doing here? I thought I was going to get murdered."

Judy placed her set of keys on the kitchen counter and turned to Quinn with sorrow. "I would have thought you were dead if I didn't see you for myself." She scanned her eyes around the dark, dusty and cramped apartment. "Look at this place. When was the last time you swept?"

There was a stack of old newspapers thrown around, the dishes dirty in the sink, the rubbish was piling up. It was easy to not care when you have nothing left to live for.

Quinn shrunk to the couch, her temporary blissful metamorphosis disappearing. "What are you doing here?" She repeated. "If you're here to lecture me about Rachel—"

"Yes, I am." Judy said sternly, sitting beside her. Quinn had thought Judy was going to hug her, she realized she craved the feeling of being that close to someone for a second. "You went to your father to help with the divorce? Are you out of your mind?"

"Did he tell—"

"Leroy and Hiram told me." She cut in. "_Why_? Why would you go that far?"

Of course, they did. Why hadn't_ that _crossed her mind?

"He can finalize it in less the time than other lawyers." Quinn blurted. She breathed deeply, slowly, relishing the push of her lungs against her ribs, the satiny passage of air through her windpipe. "I want this done quickly and he can guarantee there'll be no media attention. I can't wait six to nine months."

"You don't know that, Quinn."

"Mom, dad's not going to let anything regarding his _gay, married daughter_ getting a divorce hit the front of every newspaper and magazine in the country."

Judy stroked Quinn's hair and she flinched. "I don't know how to help you anymore, Quinn."

"I never asked for it."

Judy's face was entirely blank, they gazed at Quinn with dark, serious eyes. "So after everything you've worked so hard for you're just going to give up? Haven't I taught you anything?"

"No, you never taught me anything." She cried. "You never taught me how to love someone, you never taught me what it meant to be in a _real_, loving relationship, you never taught me what to do or say when someone loves you back." She was shouting, on the verge of tears. "You taught me to _run_ when things get serious, when things get hard all you have to do is push it so far down that it no longer exists. So I'm running, mom, because that's all I know how to do!"

Now, Judy's expression looked stung. Quinn's sharp words hung there, trapped under a tree. "I'm sorry," Quinn said. "I didn't—"

"No, you're right," Judy looked away. "I never taught you any of that. I never told you what love really is, or what marriage would be like."

"No, mom," Quinn reached out for her. "You were there when Rachel and I had our issues. You listened and you told me what to do. This time it's just—" Quinn burst into tears, the choking, gulping sobs of the fucked up life she has created for herself. "—I just can't anymore. I've lost the energy to care about anything."

Something was wrong; something was wrong but she didn't know what. She was alone in the middle of nowhere, behaving strangely, with no one around to help her. She felt so empty.

"It'll be okay. It'll be okay. I'll be here to help you get through this." Judy cradled Quinn in her arms and she was bought back once again to the present.

The panic passed and she lay still in her mother's arms for a long time.

"We should go to dinner," Judy wiped her tears and examined her face. "You look like you haven't eaten all day."

Quinn nodded slowly, then she made her way to the shower and dressed quickly. She hadn't left her apartment since listening to Rachel's voicemail; she ate whatever leftovers she could find at home. Tiredness has become her constant companion, and she felt somehow distant from herself, as if she didn't really know who she was or what she wanted. She wondered what her friends thought of her now. They continued to blow up her cellphone with texts and calls. A part of her knew they weren't calling to check up on her; they were calling to remind her of the mistake she was making, the huge mistake regarding Rachel.

They walked the short distance from the apartment to a restaurant Judy chose set back from the street, with dark green patterned walls. The tablecloth was white, the cutlery heavy and silver. A piece of lemon floated in their water glasses, a single red rose in its slender crystal vase in the center of the table. Quinn leaned back and basked in it all. Money clearly wasn't an issue in this situation; not when it came to trying to put some light back into Quinn's eyes.

The waiter arrived and they made their orders, Quinn ordered a bottle of wine—much to Judy's dismay. Many tables were occupied by several people, and wherever Quinn looked, her gaze fell onto couples holding hands and smiling sweetly at one another. Judy tried to make conversation and she'd nod and add whatever came to mind. She picked up the saltshaker and turned it in her hand, studying it. Rachel used to do that: study things. The first time they came to New York, everything fascinated her, from lights to chairs to saltshakers.

The waiter bought the wine. He'd begun performing his duties with gross exaggeration, uncorking the bottle like a magician. A withering gaze failed to quell his merriment. Quinn drank and drank, craving that give, that welcome loosening world, but the opposite seemed to happen: her focus sharpened, as if she'd donned a pair of high-powered glasses that enabled her to see clearly the pitying looks the other diners were casting her way. Her endive salad might have been weeds yanked from the curb, the chicken dish a table leg. She imagined smashing her dishes to the floor, hollering aloud to the room at large, Don't be sorry for me! Do you think I want to do this? Can't you see I'm suffering without _her_?

"Quinn, are you okay?" Judy placed a hand on her arm. "How's your food?"

"I'm fine."

Judy wasn't convinced. "You need to eat. You've lost weight."

She nodded in acquiescence and finished her bland food. Then she finished the whole bottle of wine while waiting for her mother to finish her dish. She didn't say anything regarding Quinn's new found love for alcohol, paid the bill and they left. Along the street people were strolling, enjoying the warm night. Quinn walked with her arms crossed. The food sat uneasily in her stomach.

One step, another step; like a machine, she found herself prodding back toward the apartment, the last place on earth she wanted to be.

"Do you want to come up?" Quinn asked, looking past Judy to her car.

"No, I should get going. I have an early meeting tomorrow." Her eyes stayed on Quinn for a bit longer and then she said, "I know you don't want to hear this, but Rachel's seeing a vocal coach now. She's trying to put her life back together, you should, too. Please think about this, Quinn. You have so much going on for you, don't throw it all away. Especially your relationship."

Quinn bit her lip and looked down guiltily. Rachel was putting her life back together, she wanted this, didn't she? Yet, it was despair that she felt.

Judy pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. "Call me if you need anything, and I mean anything, any time of the day."

Quinn didn't stay to watch her mother's car leave, she went straight to the twelfth floor and switched on the light in her apartment. The yellow streetlights below gave the darkness a sulfurous tinge. It was nine-twenty. The room seemed tiny. It looked so plain—despite all the clutter of newspapers, DVDs, CDs, and books. She went straight to their bedroom and dug out the little jewelry box hidden at the back of her dress drawer. She opened it to see her wedding ring and the star necklace shining back at her, a bottle of Marc Jacobs' Daisy Rachel loved so much, little notes Rachel used to leave around the apartment for her to find. She spread them across the bed and turned on her laptop to log into tumblr—the first time in six months.

Going back to the very first page; she went through—four-thousand and eighty-six pages—everything.

It wasn't until four-a.m. when she brushed her teeth, changed into her sleep shirt, turned off the light and lay in bed. _Their_ bed. The ceiling was made of white squares that sparkled faintly. Her heart pounded in her ears. She failed. She failed at making Rachel happy. She failed at promising her the world. She failed at being a loving wife. She failed.

Quinn curled into a ball under the covers. Just get through the night, she thought, but her body trembled, teeth chattering, heartbeat pounding against her eardrums. Gradually she found herself thinking of home, fog swirling like dreams around the riverbank and white buildings of downtown Lima. The movie theater the park, McKinley High, the _book depository_, all obscuring the open planes of her mind until she was being surrounded by it. In the center of it all was one girl. The only girl, only _person_ she could ever love, smiling back at her, and there was nothing left to do but close her eyes.

"Happy four years, three months, fourteen hours and fifty seconds, baby." She whispered in the dark before crying herself to sleep.

**•••**

**February 10th, 2016**

Days had passed since her slight emotional breakdown. The pounding of her head had been unbearable at first, escalating from her temples to her scalp. For two days she'd lain quite still on the sagging bed, listening to scattershot sounds from the street. She'd been afraid to move; the membrane between herself and the breakdown seemed very thin, like the soft patch on an infant's skull. Sudden, drastic movement might puncture it, causing her to fall back through. Carefully Quinn would creep out of bed to use the bathroom, get a glass or water or to pay for her takeout. On the third day she'd begun reading her book of Charles Dickens stories: blacksmiths, scullery maids, Christmas roasts, somehow they were what she needed.

When the ache in her head subsided, Quinn turned to the task of repairing the apartment. She moved carefully, trying not to disturb her resting bones and retrigger further aches and pains in her body. She scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom, cabinet to the fridge, she washed the dishes, threw unwanted items in the rubbish bag where she emptied them in a wastebin. Then she moved onto the bathroom and repeated the same tasks. She did the same for the bedroom, her tears and lack of hygiene stained the bedspread, but after several cycles in the washing-machine and hanging it in the sun to dry, the stains (the whole spread in fact) had faded.

She did the laundry for all the clothing in the apartment, hers _and _Rachel's, and then after it dried she folded it neatly and put them back where they belonged. Quinn knew it was a ridiculous thing to do, but she rationalized it in a frantic sense—that doing this held the key to her survival. Rachel was gone; she had to accept the unacceptable.

It was when she was sitting at one of the oldest restaurants in New York—businessmen outside blowing cocoons of smoke, smells of beer, salt, oiled wood—that she realized she hadn't cried in five days.

She saw her manager Kelly Fitch climb a narrow flight of steps, she stood up and Kelly unexpectedly pulled her in for a hug, rocking her in arms whose feel was instantly familiar to her. "I'm so glad you called, Quinn. Jesus, it's been so long." Kelly drew away to look at her, smiling that sheepish smile of older relatives who haven't seen you in years. She gripped the tops of Quinn's arms, "I thought you left me to find another manager."

They seated themselves at a scarred plant table. Kelly ordered two glasses of wine, which arrived in bell-shaped glasses tall as wine bottles. Kelly raised her glass. "To the pleasure of drinking with you again, Quinn."

Quinn sipped the sweet, malty wine, cloudy in her glass. The taste was whole, like a meal itself. She hadn't drunk alcohol since her mother had been in town. It felt like a previous life.

Kelly watched her drink. "I've missed this."

Quinn burst out laughing. The wine seemed to flood her brain. "Me too." She said honestly. "I'm sorry I haven't replied to any of your calls. It's been a very hectic—"

"I understand." Kelly held up her hand. "You've had a rough few months and I support your decision to take time off." She opened her folder to hand Quinn some papers. "These are scripts that have been sent over to me from Lima. Have a read and if you're interested in any of those scripts I can put in a call for you to audition—"

"I don't want anything in Lima." Quinn said, before Kelly could ask any questions she added, "I know I said I did the last time we met. I'm sorry that you went through all that trouble for me. I've been thinking of moving to L.A."

"Oh," Kelly said hesitantly after a moment of silence. It occurred to Quinn that Kelly probably thought she was joking at first. "That's—a change."

"Yes." She had been thinking about it for a while, surprisingly enough, the idea came to her when she was watching the bedspread cycle in the washing-machine. Within the hour, she had decided to give her life new direction. Yale was a memorial experience and her acting career had gone to a great start, but she needed a change, something away from home, away from all that's happened in the past few months, away from the spotlight. "I'm actually going back to college to study English. Become a script writer, maybe? Even go into journalism."

They both smiled, the idea hung there.

"You have always had a love for words." Kelly said. "What can I do to help you?"

"I know it's a lot for me to ask. I haven't been exactly keeping in contact with you and out of the blue I'm asking—"

"Quinn," she said softly. "I'm your manager. I'm here to support you and help you in any way I can. What is it that you need?"

"A few small roles in L.A. to get me started?" She grinned apologetically, knowing that she had put Kelly through so much over the past few months. "Just enough to keep me financially stable and through college."

"Done." Kelly finished her wine glass. "Honestly, did you expect me to say no?" When she laughed her whole body shook and Quinn couldn't help doing the same. "As your manager I understand what roles you normally love to do and what you're comfortable in, but as your agent I suggest that we think outside the box."

Quinn raised her eyebrow. "You're not asking me to pose nude or anything are you?"

Kelly didn't respond. Instead she handed Quinn a new script. "It's a new project Dreamworks is investing in. You've always played the girl-next-door or Damsel in distress; I think this role will suit you, take you out of your comfort zone. You did once tell me that you were pretty bitchy in high school."

Quinn read the title: Mistress of Rome, and she flipped through the hundred or so pages before turning her attention back to Kelly. "What role will I be playing?"

"It's based on a novel, have you read it?"

"I can't say I have."

Kelly reached into her bag and handed Quinn the book the movie would be based on. "The role is for Lepida. She's the antagonist to Thea's protagonist."

"And what does Lepida do?"

"She's the town whore, basically. Rich, spoiled, bitchy, villain." Kelly shrugged and leaned closer to Quinn. "We all know the villain has the most fun."

Quinn's narrow eyes widened visibly. "And there'll be sex and nude scenes?"

"It won't be R-rated if that's what you're worried about. Look," she noticed Quinn's worried expression. "You're a great actress, Quinn. You've played mild nice girl roles and you're great at that, don't get me wrong. I think this will be a good opportunity to get out of your comfort zone and play a villain before going off to do bigger and better things. Not to mention that it'll prevent typecasting in the future."

After a long pause, Kelly said, "You don't have to decide now. Go home, run a bath, read both the script and the book and tell me what you think."

The restaurant was almost empty by the time they had finished talking. Pale light fell through the windows, cutting the smoky air into diamond shaped bands. Kelly paid for lunch and they said their goodbyes on the sidewalk, with a promise from Quinn that she will call about the project. It was late afternoon when she walked back to her apartment. Quinn felt nearly comatose, done in by the wine and the passive smoking at the restaurant. When she reached her building, she noticed the pickup truck parked right in front of the building. Her heartbeat spiraled; she began to sweat.

She ran the twelve floors of stairs to the apartment, and opened the door to find Finn sitting on _her_ couch, reading _her_ magazine. He didn't look similar to the way she remembered. In Quinn's mind Finn hadn't grown since the vast high school years, but his face was the same: white teeth, narrow gray-brown eyes, like the oafish animal he'd been nicknamed for. He'd lost his indelible tan.

Something flared in Quinn's eyes, he must have noticed because he stood up instantly. "What are you doing here?" She asked.

"Rachel. She—" He started.

Quinn lost herself in that moment. Her hand reached the kitchen counter-top for support. She couldn't understand what he was saying, was physically unable to hear the reason why he was here.

Neither of them moved when Rachel appeared from out of the bedroom, facing her. Quinn didn't say anything, her muscles seemed frozen and for a second she thought that Rachel might not have recognized her. Everything that came into her head seemed inappropriate, somehow lacking. Thoughts of the short time they spent together after the accident came back to her, she noticed how much Rachel's changed since then. She looked good, with her oversize shirt loosely flowing over her faded jeans, she could see Rachel's toned legs, narrow hips and a flat stomach. She was tan, too, as if she'd been sitting outside in the sun for most of winter.

When Rachel was finally ready, she took a deep breath and smiled. "Hi, Quinn."

The words startled Quinn, and she looked at Rachel with amazement in her eyes. Then after shaking her head slightly, she frowned. "How did you get in?"

Rachel's smiled disappeared in an instant and Quinn felt guilty that she had made this harder. "Your mom gave me the key."

But that didn't stop her brain from acting on impulse. "So you decided to come here and stir things up again?"

Rachel backed away further down the hallway and Finn stood beside her. She shivered from the rush of anger. "Oh, so you're here to flash your new relationship in front of me." The words stumbled out, they were out before she could stop them.

"Hey, that's not it." Finn began. Quinn interrupted him,

"Shut up, Finn. This has nothing to do with you." She spat.

He challenged her. "You're right, it doesn't. It's about Rachel and what she needs right now."

At first she was puzzled, then alarmed, she looked at the two of them in the room. Her eyes rested on Finn who looked at her open-mouthed and amazed. "And you know what's best for her, is that right? Where were you when the accident happened?"

"Where are you now when she needs you?" He said loudly.

The urge to punch Finn again was more tempting than ever. But Rachel had run into their bedroom and she followed, slamming the door shut. She stood there looking at Quinn, and her mind wondered onto what Rachel now thought of her. Her eyes were probably bloodshot, her hair disheveled looking as if she had been through an electric mixer. She didn't dress like her old self anymore, mostly because she had no one to impress.

For a long moment Rachel said nothing. Then she brushed her hair back with the palms of her hands and took a breath. "I've been trying to call you."

"I know." Quinn tried to not show any emotion.

"Were you ever going to call me back?"

"No."

Rachel flinched but she recovered quickly. "So that's it then?"

Quinn felt stunned. Her whole body became numb, as though she had slipped and fallen into one of the forest ponds in Lima when they had only a paper-thin sheet of ice on the surface. How deep were she and Rachel about to sink now? She wondered. "What do you want me to say, Rach?"

"That you want to be with me," she began. "That you want this to work and we can get through this." She walked across the room and stood by the mirror, her back to Quinn. "It doesn't have to end if you don't want it to."

"I can't do that." Rachel was cold-eyed, stern and determined. Quinn had to look away. "Rach, I can't anymore. I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

The two sides of her returned: the vicious and loving sides. Only the difference is now they were just one and the same, they were agreeing on the same thing. If that makes any sense at all. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've lost all feeling for anything and I don't know what do to or how to get it back," she sat down on the bed, drained of energy. "I don't want to hurt you, but I feel like I have to do this."

Rachel sat down beside her and reached for her hand. Quinn let her take it but didn't look at her. "Quinn, we'll get through it together. We'll find a way."

Quinn felt a tightness in her stomach. When she finally spoke her voice was steady, but she could still recognize the pain in it. "I'm so sorry, Rach. I can't."

Rachel didn't say anything right away. Instead she stood, wiped her face and walked to the far end of the room where she leaned against the wardrobe. She crossed her arms and watched the wind blow the curtains before saying, "Could you really leave me and never regret it?"

Quinn bit her lip as she answered. Her voice was beginning to crack. "No, probably not." She felt empty, her mind had no more proper contents than a road awaiting traffic. The feeling brought its own strange peace. "All I know is that I can't make you happy anymore."

They fell into a trancelike state as Quinn felt the reality of the situation. She could see the muscles in Rachel's arms (she had been working out), the easy smile, the tanned face. "Can I get my things?" Rachel asked and Quinn nodded before leaving the room to give her some space.

Finn wasn't in the living room when she walked out and she thanked the heavens for finally giving him a brain to know when to not stick his business where it wasn't needed. She sunk down on the couch, spent. She listened as the sound of Rachel's movements faded into nothing. She emerged from the room half an hour later with everything she needed in her luggage and walked toward Quinn with her head down, she realized Rachel had been crying.

"I have everything I need for now," she attempted a smile. "Next time I'll give you more notice before I come." Her face remained cast down, her lips pressed together. It was time for her to go.

"Finn's waiting for you outside." Quinn said. "Rach, you're not date—"

"No, we're friends. I needed a lift and he offered."

"Please, be careful."

Quinn walked her to the elevator and watched her finger hesitantly press the button once, as if trying to buy some more time together. She took her hand out of her pockets and on instinct, Quinn grabbed a hold of them, moving her fingers softly over Rachel's skin.

"I'll see you in court." Rachel said softly.

"What? Why?"

The elevator made it's ascend to the twelfth floor. Rachel stepped in when the doors opened. "I'm not signing those divorce papers, Quinn."

Quinn held the doors open when they were about to close. "Why?"

Rachel pressed the button in the elevator. "I have faith that you'll find a way back to me."

Those words hurt more than Quinn had expected.

Finally, reluctantly, she stepped back and watched Rachel with a remoteness befitting her own faint presence. The elevator door closed, and then stillness, a sound unlike any other, like the inside of a coffin as if the elevator had been lowered into a grave. Quinn walked across to the corridor window and watched Rachel step out from the big doors, making her way toward the pickup truck. She watched Rachel open the truck door, then she paused and lifted her head to look up at the building window where Quinn was standing and waved one last time without smiling before stepping in. Quinn watched the truck roll forward; she heard the wheels screeching. She watched the truck make its way down the street until it was no longer in sight.

Back in the apartment, she kicked the door shut with her foot. She sunk down against the wall, ranking her hands through her hair; the tears began to fall hard now. She closed her eyes, pushing her head down into her folded arms. She waited for her muscles to stop trembling. Waited for her blood to stop roaring. Waited for the vicious whispers to die down to simple, straightforward uncomplicated thoughts.

**•••**

**November 3rd, 2011**

For all the people she's ever met in her life, Quinn had never felt so powerfully drawn to anyone. To be in the midst of them, to bathe in their scent, reach out and hold them. But this was Rachel. Quinn didn't classify Rachel in the same race as the human species. No, Rachel was heaven, Rachel was home, Rachel was _made_ _just_ for her. And that very certainty overwhelmed Quinn with a riveting sense of power; light seemed to pour from behind her eyes, her smile was a nimble pair of arms reaching out to gather Rachel in.

Rachel leaned down to adjust her ballet flats, the top of her dress fell open slightly, her thick liquid hair spilled down her shoulders, pooling like oil in her lap, and Quinn couldn't turn away. Her love for Rachel was a thing she could harness; it sharpened her, distilled her every impulse to a single burning knot between her stomach and her chest, like a star; a magnetic field whose pull would either draw Rachel irresistibly to her or cause her to implode.

Her mind wrestled free when Rachel stood up and took her hand. "Come on." She pulled Quinn into the empty choir room.

Quinn moved to take a seat, but Rachel lifted her arms, craving again that relief of closing the gap between them. And in this room, their lips crashed, their legs and stomach against each other, so many points of contact that this meeting felt miraculous, irrevocable. Quinn held quite still, arms at her side, while Rachel hung there, pulling Quinn closer, fastened to the heat between them.

"Whoa, Rach." Quinn said, half laughing, trying to break free, but Rachel refused to let go.

Rachel turned her head so her lips met the hot skin of Quinn's neck. Quinn lifted Rachel onto her toes, one hand fisted in Rachel's sweater, their hearts beating in unison like something had come alive.

This wasn't new; kissing at school. In fact, often when she and Rachel finally sunk back into each other in the auditorium, under the bleachers in the football field, in the library, in the bathroom, something in Quinn expanded, craving more of Rachel's lips, her heartbeat clamored. Quinn would try with her mind's eye to resist temptation, always realizing that they were in a public—yet disclosed—area, but whatever rational thought she'd try and reason with disappeared when her lips met Rachel's until they would have no choice but to break free and re-enter the halls of McKinley suppressing their arousal for one another.

However, _this_ was new; kissing in the choir room. A room soon to be filled with twelve or more students. Quinn can't seem to remember how many students were part of the glee club.

Quinn seized Rachel's arms, holding her trembling hands. "Rach, this is crazy."

Rachel responded by kissing her into silence, pushing her backwards until her thighs reached the piano. "You have no problems kissing me in the bathroom, Quinn. That part of the school is highly unsanitary compared to this one."

They switched positions until Rachel was sitting on the piano top with Quinn standing in-between her thighs, capturing Rachel's lips in another heated kiss. She didn't know that having Rachel's legs wrapped lightly around her hip would cause unfamiliar warmth to gradually pervade her body. With it came excitement, tension, a feeling of being on the verge of discovering something wonderful. Quinn forced Rachel's teeth apart and her tongue invaded her mouth, it caused her own skin to tingle with pinpricks of sensation. Their tongues engaged in a thrust and parry, then a sinuous dance followed by a chase that left Rachel panting for breath. She broke the kiss and leaned back, exhausted.

Quinn was made of sterner stuff. Without pause, she spread kisses over Rachel's mouth, cheeks, eyes, nose, forehead, and when she reached Rachel's ear, she nibbled her earlobe with her teeth, traced its outer edge with the tip of her tongue. Feelings intensified when Quinn slipped her hand under Rachel's sweater, her palm tracing Rachel's stomach and upward to cup her breast through her bra, she smiled when Rachel let her a gasp.

"What's going on?" A booming voice abruptly halted their heated moment.

Rachel nestled her face in Quinn's neck and whispered, "Oh, God."

Quinn thought that she would be angry at Finn for the interruption, surprised, shocked even, but she couldn't help feeling slightly irritated with Rachel. She looked down into the embarrassed eyes staring back at her, "You try to seduce me and you didn't think to lock the door?"

"I'm sorry! I was caught in the moment." Rachel said softly.

Quinn stepped back to give Rachel space to slide off the piano. They turned to find Finn, Mercedes, Sam and Artie staring at them, the shock was immense.

"What's going on?" Finn asked again, eyeing them suspiciously, then he turned to Quinn. "Is this one of your pranks? Are you using her for something?"

She didn't say anything and looked into Rachel's eyes, it was like looking into a pale midst of dark chocolate. She reached for Rachel's hand and squeezed lightly. It wasn't the typical way to come out to your friends, but when have they been the typical couple?

"Quinn," Finn said. "Stop playing pranks." There was something in his voice that told her he was feeling threatened by the small gesture, he couldn't tear his eyes away from their joint hands.

"Hey man," Sam put a hand on Finn's shoulder. "This is none of our business."

The rest of the students entered the room only to stop suddenly and wriggle past the crowd standing in the doorway. Quinn's mind drifted into the familiar fight-or-flight territory, but her thoughts were stopped once again by Finn's voice. "What were you two doing? Why were you kissing?"

Echoes of surprise erupted from the room. Mercedes and Sam were engaging in a conversation of their own, Tina was whispering with Mike, Rory and Sugar seemed more confused than everyone else, Artie and Puck stood with their mouths hung open. Santana was glaring at both of them, and Brittany was smiling happily, nudging Santana, whose expression Quinn couldn't distinguish as lack of interest or anger. Kurt and Blaine were huddled to the side with worried expressions.

Rachel stepped closer to Quinn and on impulse Quinn put her arm around her shoulder to pull her closer. One look at Finn told her that he was unprepared to see what had happened. His expression combined surprise, confusion and anger. "I'm going to ask you one more time, Quinn, what's going on?"

"Finn," Rachel started. "This isn't..."

"We're dating." Quinn said, the words were soft and warm. "We've been together for a month now." It was the first time she had used the word _dating_. It was a relief to finally get it off her chest. "There, are you happy?"

"Actually," Rachel said. "It's been one month, ten days and—"

"This isn't the time, Rach." Quinn whispered with a soft smile.

Sam stepped forward from the crowd. "Wait, wait, when you had that meeting," he recalled. "The person you referred to having not kissed was Quinn?"

"_What_?" Quinn and Finn's voice came simultaneously. But it was Finn who was quick to speak next. He turned his attention toward the rest of the club. "You guys all knew about this? Were you helping them sneak around?"

Some of them shook their heads, panic in their motions. Quinn felt Rachel tremble, reaching out to Quinn to steady herself. "Finn," her voice was hoarse. "They had nothing to do with this."

"This is a joke, right? You're not a lesbian, you don't even like girls, Rach. You don't like _Quinn_," he appeared to be having difficulty making his words form coherent sentences. "You've been lying to me all along?"

Quinn stood in front of Rachel instinctively to protect her from harm. "First of all, you and Rachel were _over_. Secondly, she didn't _lie_ to you. We weren't ready to tell anyone."

"But you didn't tell me!"

"We didn't have to tell you," Quinn raised her voice to match his. "This relationship has nothing to do with you. You're not a part of it. So you can quit acting like the world revolves around you."

Finn's face consumed a hard, uncompromising mask. "It's bad enough that you slept with my best friend, lied to me about the baby. Now you want Rachel, too? Are you planning on taking everything away from me, Quinn?"

Rachel never thought she would be frightened of Finn, but her determination to defend Quinn overrode those feelings. "Finn, you have no right to bring any of that up. This was my choice as much as it is Quinn's." She tried to reason softly, the glee kids' reactions were making her nervous. "Can we talk about this outside?"

Through all the yelling and argument, they missed Mr. Schue coming around the corner until he was right behind them. "Sorry, I'm late guys!" He squeezed through the crowd but stopped in the center of the room. "What's going on?"

Finn's patience snapped. "You two are unbelievable!" His eyes were rapacious and so intense they seemed to burn. His face was magenta colored from his rage. "I quit, I'm out of here!"

"Finn!" Mr. Schue yelled. "What's going on? I thought we were a team, we're not—"

"They're dating!" Finn yelled. "I caught them making out on top of the piano!"

"Is this true?" Mr. Schue turned to ask the two girls.

Rachel said, "Yes, but I promise you Mr. Schue, kissing was all we did on the piano."

"He meant us dating, Rach," Quinn corrected. Rachel pulled herself closer to Quinn feeling slightly embarrassed at her outburst. Quinn said, "We're dating, yes."

"Okay," he clapped his hands, not knowing what else to say and looked around the room. "You're all friends, you're supposed to support each other."

"We do, Mr. Schue," Puck stepped beside Finn and patted him on the shoulder. "I missed that make-out session but I bet it was hot, right?"

"Yeah," Tina said. "I can't say that I'm extremely surprised. Rachel has always had a thing for Quinn."

"Tina!" Rachel warned.

"What?" Kurt asked in shock. "How did I just find out about this?"

Blaine put a hand on Kurt's arm. "I don't think this is the time."

Kurt turned to Tina and said to her, "Let's talk about this after glee."

"Hey!" Rachel stomped her foot. "That's—highly rude. I told you that in confidence, Tina."

Santana shouted from the top of the bleachers, catching everyone's attention. "Can we get back to the lesson? I have a song to sing that you will all undoubtedly love and praise me for."

"How can you all be okay with this?" Finn was furious by now, he was heaving profusely trying to keep his hands to himself, afraid that he'll do something he'll soon regret. Quinn wondered if everyone had forgotten he was in the room due to the slight shift in conversation. "I quit. I can't look at you two."

"You don't have to do this, Finn," Mr. Schue said, standing in front of him. "We can talk this through."

"No way! I don't want anything to do with the two of them." His patience was lost and he glared at Quinn and Rachel dangerously before storming off leaving everyone in a state of shock.

Quinn was startled to see tears in Rachel's eyes. Upon seeing Quinn's worried expression, she dashed the tears away. Quinn squeezed her hand further and pulled them toward the seats.

"I'll go talk to him," Puck said and before he reached the door, Sam added, "Yeah, I'll go too."

"Are you okay, Rachel?" Mr. Schue asked seeing tears swell in her eyes. Everyone had taken their seats. Kurt rubbed light circles on her back and she smiled at him thankfully before turning her attention to Mr. Schue to say,

"I'm okay."

He lingered for a moment before pressing on and continued with the lesson. He, as well as everyone else in the room, was solely focused on the event that had occurred. It was evident no one wanted to continue with the day's lesson. Mr. Schue explained Sectionals were only a few weeks away and with sufficient practice, they'll have a great chance of winning. Competing schools this year will be the girls from Crawford Country Day and the Unitards.

"Can I sing now?" Santana raised her voice when Mr. Schue had stopped talking. "I practiced this song solely for the purpose of rubbing it in Berry's face that I'm better."

"I think I'll make a hot lesbian."

Everyone paused to look at Sugar. She was twisting her hair around her finger with her head craned toward the ceiling. She came back to reality and said, "Oh, I thought we were comparing who'd make a hotter lesbian than Rachel." She leaned over Rory to ask Rachel, "What's it like kissing Quinn? Can I have a go at that when you've finished?"

"No!" Rachel said without hesitation. She moved closer to Quinn as if to possess her.

"You would totally make a hot lesbian." Brittany agreed, smiling and holding up her two thumbs. "I'd show you how it's done but I'm with Santana."

Santana hopped down the bleachers, pushing Mr. Schue to the side and taking center stage. "I know that you'll all enjoy my rendition of the Broadway classic, On My Own from—"

Rachel stood up instantly. "You wouldn't dare sing that song!"

Santana smiled wickedly. "It goes to prove that whatever Berry can do, I can do a million times better." She strutted over to Rachel placing both hands on the top of her shoulder to push her down on her seat. "Sit back and enjoy."

"Quinn, do something." Rachel whined, but the melody of the violin and clarinet rose in the corner, the band filling the room with its magnificent acoustics and when Santana opened her mouth to sing,

_And now I'm on my own again nowhere to turn, no one to go  
>Without a home, without a friend, without a face to say hello<em>

No one dared move. Rachel's hand froze on top of Quinn's, her mouth opened in an _O_ shape. Santana's voice was raspy and sloppy, though she sings it with unfaltering conviction. There is a sustained, simple, pounding snare-focused beat in her voice that bursts sporadically throughout. Rachel didn't have much to whine about afterward, she leaned against Quinn gratefully; closing the gap between them seemed to ease some tension within her. A silence overcame the room. Santana briskly stepped forward looking into Rachel's eyes to finish the song with a rhythmic, heart-melting tone,

_I love him  
>I love him<br>I love him  
>But only on my own<em>

Santana received a standing ovation, with Rachel moving to hug her and Santana instinctively backed away only to fall into Rachel's determined arms with a cringe. Mr. Schue stood between the two girls plastering a wide smile on his lips. "That was unbelievable, Santana."

"I didn't know you had it in you," Kurt wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, God, I'm crying because of Satan."

"This gives me a great idea for Sectionals. Rachel and Santana, you'll sing a duet together." Mr. Schue said without pause.

"No way!" They objected simultaneously.

"We have to work together if we're to win this. Now," he handed the two girls sheets of paper. "Here are list of songs I've come up with that'll be good for Sectionals. We should meet up tomorrow after school to work on which songs will benefit both your voices."

"I ain't working with, Berry." Santana shook her head vigorously.

"Mr. Schue, I'm all for winning and everything," Rachel said softly. "However, partnering me with Santana only guarantees my death sentence. I think we should focus on finding me a new male lead. I vote Blaine."

The excitement of Sectionals was clearly evident on Mr. Schue's wide, pearly-white smile and he ignored their protests. "This will be great. I have a very good feeling about this." He gathered his belongings while saying, "Enjoy the rest of your week." Then he leaned in closer to Rachel and Santana to say, "I'll see you girls after school tomorrow in the auditorium."

"Great," Santana muttered picking up her backpack. "I have to work with big mouth for the next few weeks." She was about to saunter over and further attack Rachel, only to be stopped by Brittany. They both left the room, Brittany waving a cheery goodbye at them.

"I find this demeaning and embarrassing beyond my worst nightmares." Rachel whispered, half-angry, half-disbelieving. "Quinn, you're not helping by laughing at me!"

"I'm sorry, Rach," she said leading them out into the parking lot. "It's just funny that Santana sings a Broadway classic and Mr. Schue decides to put the two of you together."

The air smelled of flowering trees and motor oil. Quinn tugged in lungfuls of air to stop the violent spinning of her head. "Hey, about Finn earlier—"

Rachel wasn't listening. "You know, Quinn, you're going to have to be there with me at every lesson that I spend with Santana."

"Why?"

"To protect me! Who knows what Santana might do to me?" Rachel almost toppled to the ground, but Quinn caught her.

"Will you watch where you're going for once?"

"See," Rachel beamed proudly. "Without you I would have fallen flat on my face. Which goes to prove without you to protect me from the evil wrath that is Santana Lopez, I'll surely die, and _you_ therefore, will be forever alone."

They reached Quinn's car and she smiled. "How do you know I'll be forever alone?"

"Are you saying that you'll replace me with another less talented, less adorable individual?"

Quinn shrugged and walked over to the driver side and opened the door. "Not _right_ away, obviously. I need a mourning period, don't I? I'd say two days later." She laughed and got inside.

Rachel closed the passenger door immediately upon hearing Quinn's remark and she refused to get in. Quinn rolled down the windows and said, "Rach, can't you sulk in the car while I take you home?"

"No!"

"It's cold out."

"I don't care." She whined. Quinn could picture the pout on her lips. "I refuse to be in the same car as someone who finds me replaceable."

"Rachel!" Quinn shouted sternly. That got her attention. "Get in the car before I will really replace you."

Rachel did as she was told but refused to make any conversations with Quinn. Quinn kept driving, weaving across the small streets. The traffic was getting heavier and heavier and there were people everywhere, the sun was at an angle now; each tree made a cool bar of shadow on the path. She didn't know how fast she was going but the car seemed to fly down the streets until she turned to stop in front of Rachel's house.

"Rachel," she said, killing the engine. "Are you going to ignore me for the remainder of the day or should I be prepared to talk to myself for a lot longer than that?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, until Rachel reached for her timidly. "Friday the thirteenth is in ten days."

Quinn gave her a quizzical look. "And?"

"Would you stay over tonight? Its bad luck to wake up alone on Friday the thirteenth." Rachel said it so—expressionless and with such honesty Quinn couldn't be sure whether she was being sarcastic.

"O—kay? But it's not Friday the thirteenth." She waited for Rachel to elaborate further.

Rachel reached into her bag and took out a thin book. "According to this book, there are several actions that will counteract the negativity of Friday the thirteenth if done properly and must be done _prior _to the thirteenth."

"Let me see that,." Quinn said.

"No," Rachel moved her hand further away. "You'll laugh."

"Baby, I'm not going to laugh." It was pointless to hide the smile that was trying to break free.

"You always laugh at me."

"I laugh _with _you. There's a difference."

Rachel relaxed when Quinn leaned back in her seat, opening the book again, "The first page explains that one must not wake up alone on the—Hey!"

Quinn took the opportunity to snatch the book from Rachel's grasp and read the title aloud, "A witch's guide to surviving Friday the thirteenth." There was complete silence. Quinn could hear the sound of the wind blowing from outside. Then, she burst out laughing.

Rachel folded her arms, glancing out the window with an angry expression. "I knew you were going to laugh."

"Rach, you're not a witch." Quinn reasoned.

"I'm a little bit psychic. Phoebe from Charmed is a witch and she was psychic."

Quinn leaned in to capture Rachel's chin and lifted her face, closing her lips over Rachel's lightly. The hard muscles in her body relaxed as she pressed harder into Rachel and felt the blood beating to her lips. Breathless, she settled into the kiss. Sounds were foreign in her ears—cars, a police siren in the distance, the wind blowing the leaves. All she heard was the faintness of her own moans as it welled up in her throat.

"You are so adorable." Quinn whispered, pulling away from Rachel.

"I'm going to take that as a yes that you support my absurdity."

"Do I even have a choice?" Quinn asked, watching Rachel get out of the car.

"Nope." Rachel walked over to the driver's side door as Quinn rolled down the windows. Rachel leaned in, "I'll see you later, _baby._" She added with a slight flirtatious tone. She noticed the effect it had on Quinn and kissed her cheek before turning to walk up the steps and into her house.

Quinn started the car and drove home in a daze; this was how she remembered it.

She kissed her mother hello. How was your day, sweetie? Judy asked. Fine, thank you, I'm going to stay at a friend's house tonight if that's okay. I'll be home tomorrow. A friend? She replied back, who? Rachel, from glee. Okay, sweetie, have a good time. She ate something, possibly some fruit. She couldn't be sure. In her room, Quinn clawed her way out of her Cheerios uniform and took a very, _very_ cold, yet, extremely refreshing shower. Then she put on clean clothes, let her hair down to dry naturally, packed a few things in her duffel bag and kissed her mother goodbye with an added promise to call her later in the night, got into her car and drove to Rachel's house.

Three taps on her window caught her attention. Her heart thudded once at the sight of Rachel—_hard—_then two more beats squeezed through, three, four, five, and soon she could no longer keep count.

"Quinn, are you going to come in? You've been sitting out here for half an hour."Rachel said.

Quinn licked her lips and swallowed deeply. She grabbed her bag and followed Rachel into her house. The Berry men were sitting at the sofa watching television and smiled brightly at her when the two girls entered.

"Quinn, so glad you decided to get out from your car." He held out his hand and introduced himself. "I'm Leroy Berry, I believe we've met one time. And this is my husband, Hiram."

She felt Rachel shift beside her and tried to remember the last sequence of events that led her to be in this position. The room kept turning, Quinn closed her eyes for a second to keep it still. She used to play this game as a child; you whirled in a circle, then stopped, savoring the explosion of dizziness in your brain.

She opened her eyes and saw everything clearly for the very first time in her life. Rachel gazed up at her with confusion written across her face. The pace in her heart picked up once again and Quinn thought she might begin to get a heart attack if she didn't calm it down. Seconds ticked by, it was as though she had been suspended in mid-air, looking down at the world she'd just traveled. The view was breathtaking.

"Well, this is awkward."

Leroy's voice broke Quinn's gaze, she quickly recovered. "I'm so sorry," she said apologetically. "It's just been one crazy afternoon." That was the understatement of the century. She smiled, "Hi, I'm Quinn."

"Nice to meet you, Quinn." Hiram brought her in for a hug. "You smell nice. What is that? Chanel. No. 5?"

Quinn grinned, her smile radiated. "Yes, actually. I got it just yesterday."

Quinn gathered in her surroundings inside the Berry house, it made her remember, nostalgically, the warmth of the home she used to live with her grandfather. A large Persian rug laid in the center of the hardwood floor. The walls were decorated in floral-patterned cloth paper, the colors in the petals picking up on the reds and whites in the upholstery rug. Over the large windows hung antique silk drapes, behind which were sheer curtains.

"You have a lovely home."

"Thank you, Quinn," Hiram said. He nudged his husband in the ribs lightly, "I like this one."

"Are you here to counteract Friday the thirteenth suspicions like Rachel does every time?" Leroy laughed amusingly.

"Dad!" Rachel said, only to be cut off by Quinn.

"Every time?" She turned to Rachel. "You never told me you do this every time."

"Oh, yes." Leroy added. "Every ten days prior to the thirteenth. That's if to say the thirteenth lands on a Friday. It's strenuous work, believe me."

"Is that so?" Quinn's eyes were laughing. "What does she do during these ten days?"

Rachel stomped her foot in an attempt to get everyone's attention. She was rather annoyed and a feeling a little ignored. Without giving Leroy the chance to answer Quinn's question, Rachel said, "Quinn and I will be studying, and then possibly watching television and falling asleep—"

"Don't stay up too late." Leroy said, walking back into the living room. He leaned in to whisper in Quinn's ear. "I'll tell you all about it another time."

Quinn laughed. Rachel rolled her eyes, turning toward the stairs.

Quinn hurried after her, closing the door once she entered Rachel's room. "Jeez, what a room."

The over-sized bed looked lost in the semi-enormous room, the floors of which were covered in a thick, beige carpet so soft to the step Quinn felt as though she were walking on marshmallows. To the right of the bed was a white marble vanity table, resting in the middle of a marble counter that ran nearly the length of the room. In the corner near the door was a dark wood book shelf, reaching almost the top of the ceiling.

"You really are spoiled, Rach. I thought you were exaggerating half the time." Quinn said, examining Rachel's collection on the book shelf.

"I went on a shopping spree one day and got a bit carried away." There was something in Rachel's hard tone that made Quinn's spine tingle.

Quinn turned, only to freeze mid-step. A coldness broke in her lungs, like inhaling helium from a balloon. From across the bed, there was frustration evident in Rachel's expression. "Umm, did I do something wrong?" Quinn said.

"Yes," she pointed to the clock above the door. "It's eight-o'clock, Quinn. What took you so long? I was going to wait for you to have dinner but we got extremely hungry. And then I see your car from my window only to have to go out to get you because you sat in there for half an hour."

Quinn hadn't realized it was so late, she hadn't realized the sun had disappeared behind stars, she hadn't realized anything since the moment Rachel had called her _baby_. That one word seemed like the last puzzle piece that finally brought everything into place.

Quinn watched the anger dissipate from Rachel's expression, fascinated by the warm abundance on her face, the sensation was extravagant. Something calmed in her now, cool in her chest, her head, warm blood coursing through her, drawing out the cold inside of her.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked.

Quinn shook her head, moving in to kiss Rachel lightly. Rachel had other ideas and took Quinn's face in her hands to kiss her again, deeper this time. It wasn't enough. They continued kissing, harder and faster, until Quinn's breath started to catch in her throat. Quinn pushed Rachel further up the bed, blanketing over her, their kisses were more fevered now, almost desperate. Quinn kept stroking the skin under Rachel's sweater, her own fingertips brushing the curve of the breast beneath hers, and then she could no longer think about anything anymore. She tugged Rachel's sweater over her head before she felt she might have to tear it free. Quinn stared, startled for only a moment—before she took off her coat and lowered herself over Rachel again, sheltering her, keeping her warm.

What Quinn was feeling couldn't be said in words. Dizzy and blissful. When Rachel lolled her head back, Quinn nibbled her neck, biting into it softly and enjoying the moans escaping from Rachel. She was seeing stars and the room began to tilt and spin in the enclosed dome. Rachel weaved her fingers through Quinn's hair so as to keep her there, then she kissed Rachel's open mouth again. They were both breathing hard, getting crazy. Quinn pushed one of her thighs between Rachel's leg, she swallowed the moan that escaped Rachel's lips.

Rachel put her hands on either side of Quinn's face. "You and I—do you want me to—is this going to happen?"

"What?" Quinn came back to her from a very great distance. "Oh. Oh! I didn't think—tonight—"

"Me either." Rachel kissed her again; she was trembling, maybe with excitement. "But if you want to—"

"No—I mean," Quinn pulled back, thumping her head once on Rachel's shoulder. "I meant—now is—"

"Too soon?" Rachel finished.

Quinn sighed, straddling Rachel's hips. "Yeah. Is—is that okay?"

Rachel lay one hand on Quinn's cheek, she loved the touch of it. "I don't want to rush this either."

With another heavy sigh, Quinn slid to Rachel's side, resting her head on her shoulder. "We should watch a movie or something to..."

"Relieve the tension?" Rachel laughed, eyeing her with a dubious smile. "Are you hungry? Have you eaten?"

"I'll be fine." Quinn snuggled deeper into Rachel's side.

"Quinn, you can't skip a meal."

"It's fine, Rach. I just want to sleep."

"It's only nine-o'clock."

They were kissing for an hour? She stared at Rachel. "I guess hanging around you has made me old."

Rachel gave her a pout that never failed to make her warm all over. "You're older than me, Quinn."

"That's not to say that you're an old lady living in a sixteen year-old's body." Rachel wriggled herself free from Quinn's grasp and Quinn quickly pulled her back down, "Rach, I was joking."

"I'm only going to get dressed. And brush my teeth." Rachel had been so warm in her arms. "You can be possessive when you want me."

"You have no idea." Quinn smiled a sexy, lazy grin. It was getting harder to be apart from Rachel, it was getting harder to think about anything _except_ Rachel.

Rachel pecked her on the lips. "I'll be back. You should change for bed, too."

Watching her, Quinn felt a weird, elated glow. The feeling lifted her up and crushed her, stopping her breath. She was lost in a sea of molecules, atoms, shifting colored patterns. Every instant had the dazzling power of retrospect, those dreams that shiver across your skin the next morning like the stroke of a feather. Rachel came out of the bathroom glancing down at her from her position.

"You're still not changed." Rachel was wearing pink star wars pajamas and Quinn erupted into laughter. "What?"

"You look cute, that's all. I didn't know you were such a nerd." She got her own pajamas and went into the bathroom.

The bathroom was full of spotless white tile. In the medicine cabinet Quinn saw a bottle of Marc Jacobs' Daisy perfume and several light brown hairpins laid neatly in a pile. A pair of jade earrings shaped like tears, a bottle of coconut-smelling lotion; Quinn stared at these while she brushed her teeth and washed her face, trying to make sense of the woman who had won her heart so quickly in such a short time, who had bought them and worn them, placed them so carefully here.

Rachel was sitting at the laptop when Quinn walked out, and before she got into bed she asked, "Does your obsessive-compulsive need to be on the left side of a school desk also apply to this bed?"

"Yes, I prefer to sleep on the left side." Rachel answered without turning around.

She yanked the bedspread away and lay under the sheets. Across the room she could see Rachel scrolling through her dash, often clicking on the reblog button to set some posts on queue. She was also scrolling through other blogs and answering questions. Then when she had done all that, she'd check her tracked tags—all fifty of them. Quinn, one time, sneaked a peek at Rachel's tumblr and was surprised that she had more followers than Quinn, _a lot_ more followers. She received many anonymous questions regarding advice and life in general, and Rachel took the time to answer them all, no matter how childish some might seem. Rachel Berry was very tumblr famous.

Across the wall she heard tiny movements from the Berry men, and it reminded her to call her mother, but instead she texted her goodnight and switched her phone off. Rachel turned off the light and crawled into bed beside Quinn. They lay silent in the darkness, the only glare coming from the street light outside. Incredulously, that pulse of longing within Quinn was still beating through everything else. Seamlessly it mingled with her own breath, like two halves of one thing. She couldn't keep it in anymore.

"Rach—" I love you.

"Yeah?" Rachel turned her head to make out Quinn's reflection in the dark. "Oh, did you want to watch a movie? I completely forgot."

Quinn stopped her and she relaxed back onto the comforter. "It's okay, we can just lie here." I love you. She gathered Rachel's hair in her hands and moved close to her face, watching the movement of her eyes. "Do you want to talk about what happened with Finn?"

"No," Rachel shifted closer to her. "Are you okay with it? You know, coming out to our friends?"

Quinn shrugged. "Kurt already knew, which meant Blaine probably did. Santana and Brittany found out not long ago. So that's basically half the club."

Rachel giggled. "That's only four people."

"Do you trust them?"

"Yes." She answered without pause. "Don't forget that we also know their secrets." A few minutes of silence ticked by and Rachel said, "I'm going to talk to Finn tomorrow."

"Why?" They were facing each other again. "I'm not letting you—"

"I owe him an explanation, Quinn."

"You don't owe him anything," Quinn said. "You two had already broken up. He doesn't deserve anything from you."

"He does," Rachel tried to reason. "He's my friend, Quinn. _Our_ friend, and I want to remain friends with him."

"You're too nice, Rach," Quinn sighed. "I think it's a bad idea. He's got anger issues."

"I promise I'll be okay," Rachel found Quinn's hand underneath the sheets, intertwining them. "I want him to know that we're not doing this to spite him and we never meant to hurt anyone."

Quinn rolled over to her side, her lips brushed against Rachel's neck. She changed the topic. "So, what other Friday the thirteenth suspicions do you believe in?"

"Are you going to laugh at me if I tell you?" Rachel also rolled over to her side. Quinn was surprised by how close their lips were to each other's.

"Of course." She said honestly.

"Then I don't want to tell you." Her breath lingered on Quinn's lips. Rachel then said, "Let's just agree that my absurdity amuses you and that you're willing to put up with it for as long as possible."

Quinn dropped the subject even though she could use a good laugh. She rolled her eyes and asked another question, "What did Sam mean today when he said that you had a meeting and talked about not kissing me?"

She told Quinn everything, starting with her insecurity for having not kissed her after being together for three weeks, she told Quinn how she had prepared a survey and was only able to ask one question, she told her how they were extremely helpful, yet, teasing her in the process.

Quinn asked another question when Rachel finished speaking, "What did Tina mean when she said you've always had a thing for me?"

"Oh, that—" Rachel released her hand from Quinn's. "That's a secret."

"But I want to know."

"One day, baby." She laughed and kissed Quinn's cheek.

After a moment's silence, Rachel bought her lips closer to Quinn's ear. "Ask me out."

"What?" Quinn muttered.

"We have yet to properly set an anniversary date. As I recall, you have never asked me out, or to be your girlfriend for that matter."

"It was a mutual agreement."

Rachel sing-songed, not agreeing with Quinn. "Technically, I'm still single."

Quinn stared at her for a moment, she let out a low unsatisfied moan. "You really want to say that again, Rachel?"

Rachel giggled and ran a finger along Quinn's neck and down to her collar bone. "Ask me out, then, Quinn. If you want me." She snaked out her tongue to run it along Quinn's bottom lip, refusing to connect their lips together.

Quinn gulped at the teasing gesture. She pushed down her arousal and gathered her thoughts together. "It's been one month and ten days. You've been counting since the twenty-fourth of September."

"Even so," Rachel argued. "It has occurred to me—"

"Just then?"

"—that you have yet to ask me to be your girlfriend. I serenaded you in glee and you were mesmerized by my performance, which is understandable, however, the way you pulled me toward the back of the bus stop after the performance and agreed to venture in this relationship with me lacked any form of sentiment."

"Why can't you ask me out if—"

"My point is, Quinn," Rachel interrupted. "I serenaded you, and therefore you must be the one to ask me."

"Oh, so this is how this relationship works. You do something for me and I have to return the gesture?" Quinn's tone was void of any anger.

"Quinn!" Rachel pulled back only slightly to look up into Quinn's eyes. "Ask me."

Quinn rolled her eyes knowing that Rachel probably couldn't see it. "Rachel Berry, will you make me the happiest person in the world by agreeing to be my girlfriend?"

"It's not a proposal, Quinn."

"Just say yes, Berry."

"Yes, baby. I would love to be your girlfriend. Today marks the first day of the rest of our lives." She laughed and snuggled further into Quinn, her breaths warming the curve of Quinn's neck. Rachel's voice became lighter and softer as she said, "It would've been wiser for me to have requested you ask me out sooner. Now, I have to recommence calculating our relationship from the beginning."

Quinn laid still breathing in Rachel's scent. It had become obvious: she's in love with Rachel. Ridiculously in love. _Love_ echoed in her eardrums, her heart was beating to it. She felt a wave of calmness, then tentative happiness—it reminded her of the first time they'd spoken through tumblr, she had fallen so fast and hard then, it was happening all over again—the way Rachel said _baby _triggered a stronger feeling of promise, a swell of possibility that seemed almost to lift her from the bed.

Quinn sank into a trancelike absorption. Rachel biting into her pen when she's nervous; Rachel choosing an orange at the market; in sweatpants and a t-shirt, her hair tumbling from a clip. Quinn forgot where she was for a moment, drifting among a panoply of memories.

A single stir from Rachel jerked her from her reverie.

"Rach, are you awake?" Rachel was breathing heavily. "Rachel?" She tried again. Rachel mumbled something incoherent. Carefully, Quinn ran her thumb across Rachel's cheek, then slipped her hand through soft, brown hair, as if to feel Rachel's dreams through her fingers. And then she whispered softly,

"I love you. I love the way you look at me, how you see _me_, not the girl who used to torture you all those years, not the girl who's afraid of showing weakness. I love your obsessive-compulsiveness, especially numbers and how they always have to be even. I love the way you eat, how the foods simply can't touch each other. I love your drive and passion to succeed. I love the positive way you see the world, as if nothing could go wrong as long as you have faith. I love the way you laugh and breathe and _speak_. I love the way your eyes shine when you sing. I love the fierceness in your voice _when_ you sing, because you know that you're one of the best out there. I love you so much I can't say it out loud in the daylight. But I promise one day I'll say it to you, and when I do it'll be the last time I'll say it to anyone. I know that I'll never be able to love anyone else as much I love you."


	8. Chapter 8

_If time is money, then I'll spend it all for you  
><em>_I will buy you flowers with the minutes we outgrew  
><em>_I'll turn hours into gardens, planted just for us to take  
><em>_I'll be reckless with my days, building castles in your name  
><em>_Since we've grown, we long for concrete things  
><em>_Honestly, nothing's felt so sure than when you're next to me_

—Sleeping At Last: Next to You

**•••**

**November 4th, 2011**

Quinn woke just before sunrise, a warm wind on her face, afloat; still half-entrapped in sleep's tender clutch. Her hand sluggishly reached across the bed only to have it dangling from the side. She blinked a few times to allow herself to pass from mild unconsciousness to full awareness. Her dreamy pleasure broken, reveling in the sensation of submersion and inundation of absoluteness. She twisted onto her side, shifted the sheet up to her chest, and when she actually let herself turn to face Rachel, it was a sweet shock to all her senses. She watched the rise and fall of Rachel's chest as she slept. Her brown hair was fanned out on top of the pillow, her tan skin a dark contrast to the pink-colored satin sheets. Quinn didn't want to disturb her but she couldn't resist running one of her fingers along the length of Rachel's arm or planting a kiss on the corner of her lips. Rachel squirmed a little, but didn't open her eyes, much to Quinn's relief.

Quinn found herself smiling. She was happy, a delicious warmth beginning in her stomach and seeping through her limbs like the taste of a candy. Rachel looked like a little girl dreaming of holiday happiness, perhaps dreaming of some tiny new toy. The world seemed dreamlike in that moment: she lingered her fingertips on Rachel's wrist, then slowly moved it up to her bare forearm, and reaching her upper arm over her rolled up pajama sleeves. Quinn traced Rachel's jawline, her fingers moving it lightly down her neck, and finally over the fabric of her pajamas to her chest. It was when their eyes finally locked that Quinn realized how truly in love she was.

She was rewarded with a sensation she never knew existed. It went on and on, tingling throughout her whole body and warming her before slowly subsiding. She struggled to catch her breath, and when Rachel moved in to kiss her, she finally lost it. Quinn tightened a hand on her heart, forcing it to stay intact.

"Hi." Rachel broke the kiss, smiling at her.

"Hi." Quinn repeated, still in a daze.

"How long have you been awake?"

"A while." Quinn took a deep breath, heat rising.

Her pulse leaped, the feel as if everything were suddenly right in this world. Her heart continued to beat funnily inside her chest. She heard music in her ears, although it faded in and out and sounded far away. The room around her was blurring, she could see only Rachel's eyes, glittering with excitement. She was so beautiful, so poised and alert, ready for anything. Rachel's gaze was on her; her lips, her throat, taking all of her in, remembering this moment. Pleasure and desire raced between them, their hearts beating to the same rhythm. And Quinn _knows _when they're ready to finally say those three words, eight letters, it'll be a plunge into an abyss together. But it'll be nothing to fear. It'll be surrender. It'll be union. It'll be bliss.

A light rain began to fall, little drops tapping gently on the window. Rachel looked passed Quinn, breaking the moment, strangely unaffected by what had just happened between them. Rachel sat up on the bed when the rain began to come down even harder, but before Quinn could reach for her hand, she was up off the bed. She walked to the window, pulling the curtains open as lightning cut the sky outside. November rain sheeted itself against the windows, drowning out all other sounds.

"Oh, no, this is bad." Rachel slumped her forehead on the window as the downpour grew steady.

Quinn watched the rain fall diagonally from the sky, trying to defy gravity as it rode on westerly winds that whistled over the trees. "Why is it bad?" She asked, stretching.

Rachel hadn't turned around to face her. The sky darkened a little more, and big heavy drops fell from the clouds. Hurricane drops. "This is bad!" She repeated, exasperated.

"Why?" Quinn wasn't paying attention though. Her eyes lingered on Rachel's rear end far longer than customary.

Thunder boomed loudly, and Rachel jumped this time. Quinn could hear the roaring of the rain on the roof. She turned to the window and saw the gray sky flash lighter for just a second. Moments later, another boom of thunder.

"Quinn, you need to leave." Rachel muttered, pulling the comforter off of Quinn's body.

"Hey!" Quinn tugged the comforter toward her, glaring at Rachel. "It's freezing."

"You need to leave." Rachel repeated, tugging it away, _again_.

The comforter was now involved in a game of tug of war, with Quinn on her knees. She wondered why she was in love with _this_ girl, out of the seven billion people in the world. "Is this how you treat all your guests?"

Quinn was too strong for Rachel. Exhausted, she threw the comforter on the ground. "I'm not joking, Quinn." She glanced at the clock.

Hoping off the bed, Quinn held Rachel at arm's length. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Rachel stiffened at the sound of the roaring thunder. The storm in full fury, winds whipping the rain in circles. Rachel took a step closer to her, though not touching, she watched Rachel's chest rise with every breath. "Are you scared of thunder?" Quinn asked.

Rachel quickly turned away, embarrassed, muttering to herself. The rain muffled her words and Quinn wasn't able to make out what she had said. A smile crept on Quin's lips, and she snuggled up against Rachel, her chin resting on her shoulder, rubbing light circles on her back. Rachel leaned closer, breathing heavily into her neck, her arms around Quinn's waist to pull her in while Quinn held her lightly, both lost in thought.

"It's quite a storm. I've never seen anything like this." Quinn said, watching the drops flow in vertical streams on the window. Rachel was quiet and shivering. Quinn rested her cheek beside Rachel's temple, whispering in her ear, "It'll be okay, baby."

Lightning lit the sky again before Rachel pulled away to look up at Quinn. "I can't go to school when it's like this."

Rachel looked afraid. The thunder had made her deeply anxious, it paralyzed her in a vicelike fear that seemed as though she was about to drop dead. This was one reason out of _many_ reasons as to why Quinn was in love with the girl standing before her. Her emotions were visible; she didn't try to hide it. Quinn felt it, too—Rachel's fear—meandering, invading her mind like fluorescent splashes of color. Everything about her was real, and beautiful—that intense fragile beauty you saw in babies, but rarely in adults.

"You have me now," Quinn said in barely a whisper. "You don't have to be afraid of anything anymore."

A slow smile curved on Rachel's lips, shooting something like sparkles into Quinn's heart. Her need overwhelmed her in a hot rush that burned away every last shred of her hard-held resolve.

A loud knock on the door startled them both. They pulled apart as Leroy opened the door. "Rachel, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, daddy." She picked up the comforter that had been thrown on the floor when he eyed it curiously.

"It's really coming down out there," he said. "Will you be okay going to school?"

"Yes, I have Quinn." She murmured, catching Quinn's eye, watching her with a quiet, almost expectant intensity.

"Oh, good!" Leroy beamed. "You two should get ready for school, breakfast will be ready soon."

Keeping her eyes focused on Quinn, Rachel eased closer, sliding her arms around her waist. Quinn blinked several times rapidly before catching her breath. Rachel's face wasn't even an inch from hers, her lids held-closed, and Quinn was suddenly struck by how long and thick her lashes were. Rachel hesitated for what seemed like forever and a second, then Quinn instinctively leaned forward, expecting a kiss, only to be met with Rachel's breath on her lips,

"They say that it's bad luck when it rains any time before Friday the thirteenth."

At her flirtatious tone, Quinn pulled away to observe Rachel's facial features. All was serious. "This is your way of seduction?"

"I think today will be a good day, don't you?" And then she pulled apart completely with a peck to Quinn's lips.

Flushed and frustrated, Quinn observed her own rapid breathing and the way Rachel walked innocently to the bathroom, like she hadn't just tried to seduce Quinn, and stuck her tongue out before closing the door. She collapsed onto the bed, smiling, oddly warm. Her mind unconsciously delved into the things about Rachel that drove her crazy; the fact that Rachel was always so cheerful; no matter what was happening around her, the fact that she would hum to herself as she walked down the street or the school hallways, the fact that she would wave to strangers driving by in their cars, the fact that she's remained true to herself since the very first day Quinn met her in Freshman year, and the fact that those plaid—extremely short—skirts and animal sweaters somehow magnified her desire for Rachel. All that she knew was the world of bliss, that clean, polar realm bewilderment where happiness resides. At that moment, she knew she had no intention of ever being without Rachel. Deep in her heart it was inconceivable that they would ever separate.

After it was her turn to shower and get ready for school, they had breakfast together, the Berry men and all. She sat watching Rachel eat more than she ate herself, watching—the eleventh time—Rachel flick her tongue out to graze it lightly across her bottom lip and then she'd bite it lightly. It sent a pool of desire to the deepest pit of Quinn's stomach, filling her head with insatiate thoughts of ripping Rachel's clothes off and having _her_ for breakfast. The four of them drifted in and out of conversations, there was real love. It was easy to smile and feel real emotions. In this state, the idea of spending the rest of her life with Rachel was a given. Forever—the culmination of the momentum of deep love and loyalty.

"Did you have fun staring at me at breakfast, Quinn?"

Stealing a quick peek at Rachel sitting beside her in the car, she saw a wicked grin and Quinn raised her eyebrow. "I was enjoying my breakfast."

"You were enjoying _me_ eat breakfast."

Shifting, Quinn forced her thoughts away from a naked Rachel writhing beneath her. "I don't think you should see Finn today."

"Don't change the subject, baby," Rachel reached over to run her hands up and down the length of Quinn's arm. "What were you thinking about when you were watching me eat?"

"Rachel," Quinn said lightly, shivering from the seductive way Rachel was touching her. "This is neither the time nor place. It's pouring, dark and the roads are extremely slippery. I would like to live to see another day."

Rachel crossed her arms and pouted. "You're no fun." She turned on the music and started singing to songs on the radio.

They sat in an easy silence as the minutes crawled by, Rachel's singing soothing Quinn's distress at driving in this horrible weather, the sound of her voice was the noise of all pleasure condensed. Quinn placed her hand on top of Rachel's to soothe her anxiousness when another thunder roared overhead. She kept an eye on the road and another one at Rachel from time to time. She didn't know a lot about Rachel—they had _just_ gotten to know each other after all—but Quinn knew enough to know when thunder roared her heart would beat fast, that she'd been through a kind of fear, through a dark tunnel into new territory.

Quinn cut the engine when she pulled up to the school. They sat there for a while listening to the rain fall onto the roof of the car, watching the water beating hard onto the six or seven miles away thunder boomed in the distance—faint but powerful—and Rachel sprung up in shock in her position.

"Listen, Rach, we can go home if you're not comfortable with this." Quinn said.

Rachel was looking out the window for a moment before turning to her and said, "No, I promised Mr. Schue I was going to meet him after school to work on song selections with Santana."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Santana isn't even at school today."

Rachel gasped. "Santana would feign sickness because of the _weather_?"

"Sure," Quinn said naturally. "I've done it before."

"Quinn, that's highly dishonest of you. By the means of education only one's potential can be used to maximum extent." She explained sophisticatedly.

"Rach, you told me this morning you can't go to school in this weather. Which means you do the same." Quinn interrupted. Their eyes locked and held, and the terror she saw in Rachel's eyes left her with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Rachel swallowed and said in a shaky voice, "My fear of thunderstorms is an authentic condition known as astraphobia, whilst _you_ take advantage of Mother Nature's most extremely terrifying weather as a reason to forgo your education."

"Why are you so scared?" Quinn asked affectionately, her voice was tender. "I mean, can I know?"

Rachel's gaze shifted briefly, but enough to send a cold dread lancing through Quinn's body. "I don't really know," she said softly. "My therapist has never been able to pinpoint the exact moment my panic rose at hearing thunderstorms. He said it may have been a childhood trauma that I probably, and will most likely never be able to recall."

"And your dads don't know?"

Rachel shook her head. "They said they've never witnessed me getting struck by lightning or being hurt by it in anyway. So they're as baffled as my therapist when it comes to this situation."

"You don't have to deal with it alone anymore." Quinn said.

Rachel smiled gratefully. "I know." And then looking out the window behind Quinn, she pointed, "Hey, there's Santana and Brittany." Quinn turned to see both their friends running frantically in the rain toward the school.

"I guess you're wrong about Santana. She's not a delinquent after all." Rachel teased.

"Shut up," Quinn laughed. "Brittany probably made her. We should get going, too."

Inside, Quinn walked Rachel to class and they promised to meet in the library during lunch. Throughout her day, she noticed something had altered between them, something had finally loosened. They started off with shy glances, gentle smiles, everything from touches to caresses to talks were tender and sweet. They were drowning in each other. But now, they had sunk. The tension had disappeared, every bit of it now replaced by an intensity, a demand. From Quinn's point of view, everything was charged; they kissed longer, caresses turned into a craze that had them wanting to touch each other everywhere, talks went for hours on end.

Her life had become like a cartoon, the image of Rachel would spring forth hearts from her eyes, the simplest of shy words from Rachel melted her into a puddle, and it wasn't a surprise that she actually saw bands of stars swirling in front of her eyes and around her head for five or ten seconds at the peak of their heated moments.

It was the best kind of bliss, the absence of discomfort.

When lunch came around, Quinn headed into the library and saw Rachel's feet dangling from the seat at her preferred cubicle, away from civilization Quinn pulled out a chair and practically almost sat on her lap. Rachel was reading a text book and munching on dried apple chips.

Quinn placed light kisses on her neck, breathing in the scent of her and whispered, "I love the way you smell... like daisies."

Rachel looked up and smiled. "Thank you, Quinn."

Lowering her head to Rachel's upturned face, Quinn kissed her. Rachel made a low sound and grasped onto the front of Quinn's letterman jacket, pulling her closer. Her response was all Quinn needed to coax her lips open and slide her tongue inside Rachel's mouth. She gave a growl of satisfaction. Rachel opened to her, her tongue stroking Quinn's own, pressing her body urgently against Quinn's, and making soft, needful sounds. Quinn slid her hands down to Rachel's hips, and then lower, easing the fabric of her skirt upward along her legs. Her questing fingers found silky stockings, and the smooth warmth of her thigh.

"Quinn," Rachel muttered. "We... could get caught."

Quinn kissed the side of her neck, making her way down the line of Rachel's chin to her collar bone, and then back up again to meet her heavy-lidded gaze. She wore a half smile on her shadowed face and Quinn said, "No one will see us."

She reconnected her lips to Rachel's neck, careful not to leave any bruises. Rachel groaned, tilting her head back to expose more of her neck. They jumped apart in fright at the sound of Rachel's bedazzled cellphone vibrating on the table. She read the text and her smile faded.

"Who is it?" Quinn asked.

"It's Finn," Rachel bit her bottom lip. "He said he can meet me after sixth period."

"Oh," Quinn's face dropped and she released her grip on Rachel but the other girl pulled her back in,

"Quinn, please don't be like this. I have to talk to him about us," she said, smiling ruefully into Quinn's mussed hair. "I don't want him to hate me."

She inhaled deeply, struggling to keep her breath under control—and the urge to punch Finn Hudson in the face. "He doesn't hate you, Rach, he's using this excuse to tell you how much he loves you and that you should be with him instead of me because I'll only hurt you—"

"Do you trust me?" Rachel cut her off, her voice roughened like Quinn had never heard before.

"I don't trust him."

"But you trust me."

Disgruntled, Quinn stared at her. "Yes."

"Then _please_, trust me on this, Quinn." She said softly. "I don't want us to be arguing about this in ten years' time because you still resent me for talking to Finn."

Rachel's words faded her anger. She focused on the touch of their hands, on the desire and the obliterating thrill sweeping over her. A lump rose in her throat at the sight of Rachel's wide, shining eyes asking Quinn for comprehension. However, it was the _ten years' time_ which soothed her, soaking all the way through her, lulling her.

"You think we'll still be together in ten years' time?" A sudden heat flushed her face. She had never felt a twinge of intensity for anybody as strong as the one she had in this moment.

Rachel smiled and kissed her cheek. "I think we'll be together longer than that."

Quinn let go completely of her anger and jealousy toward Finn, and kissed Rachel for the remainder of lunch. Laughs were exchanged, smiles and banter. When Cheerios practice rolled around she couldn't feel the gruelling workout Sue Sylvester had planned. Sue pushed them hard, running, somersaults, acrobatic flips, routines were repeated until it was perfect, Quinn was flipped into the air countless times, Santana and Brittany fell countless times. This was paradise as far as she was concerned. That's not exactly true: _love_ was paradise. She was so in love that she welcomed the gruelling session. It was only when Sue Sylvester was completely exhausted and dehydrated from yelling through the megaphone that she finally let them retire to the showers.

After Quinn was dried and got dressed, she waited for Santana and Brittany at their lockers and the three girls walked together to the auditorium. Santana was the first to break the silence,

"You know, Quinn, your love for Berry is quite sickening."

"What are you talking about?" Quinn put her hands in her pockets. The thought of seeing Rachel in any minute had her forcing her legs to stop from running to the auditorium.

"You were smiling like an idiot throughout practice." She started matter-of-factly. "Did Berry finally put out?"

"How was it, Quinn?" Brittany chirped. "Does Rachel taste like strawberries? Or any kinds of berries like her last name?"

Quinn cringed from embarrassment. "I'm not discussing this with you guys."

"Come on, Quinn," Brittany changed positions with Santana and was now standing between the two girls. She poked Quinn's arm playfully several times, "Rachel tastes nice, doesn't she? I've imagined her tasting like raspberries."

"Brittany!" Quinn snapped lightly, Santana was tumbling from laughter. "I'm not going to talk about this."

They entered the auditorium while Brittany continued to press Quinn for answers. "Which positions have you guys tried? Have you thought about a strap-on? Santana and I have one if—"

At the bottom of the stairs, Quinn turned around to snap louder, "Brittany! We haven't had sex, okay? Even if we did, I wouldn't be telling you."

"Oh," her smile fell from her face and she pulled Quinn into a hug. "I'm sorry you're sad about not tasting Rachel's berry. If it makes you feel any better, I bet Rachel does taste like raspberries."

Quinn thankfully smiled, looking around for help from Santana only to see that she was twirling around on the stage. Mr. Schue came out from behind the curtains, with Brad in tow, standing beside the piano and smiling at Santana.

"Where's Rachel?" He asked, looking around at the three girls.

Santana shrugged. "Being annoying somewhere, probably."

Mr. Schue checked his watch. "She's usually always early."

Santana took the papers from his grasp and scanned through the song list. "Most of these are show tunes. I ain't singing show tunes with Berry."

"These are classics, Santana," Mr. Schue said. "Your voices will go perfectly together."

Sniggering, Santana ignored him. "Did you end up getting Huckleberry Finn back on the team?"

Mr. Schue's shoulders sagged and he said, "Unfortunately no, he refuses to participate. Hopefully Rachel had better luck than I did."

Jolting forward from her seat, Quinn ran out of the auditorium to find Rachel. She was furious with herself for not having the decency to check up on Rachel. The thought that Finn might have done something irresponsible to hurt Rachel sent a quiver of anger through her, her mind racing. She ran down the stairs of the school into the empty corridors, leading to the choir room.

Rachel was huddled in the corner, everything around Quinn faded; nothing else registered but the intensity of Rachel's eyes, the paleness in her face. Walking slowly toward Rachel, Quinn was filled with a sudden dread at what she was about to hear. Thoughts ran through her mind with lightning speed. Perhaps Rachel was bitter the outcome of her conversation with Finn didn't go as she planned, not that Quinn was surprised, she expected that much from him. But there was something about the way Rachel silently sat and stared at her forlornly that told Quinn this was bigger than that.

"Rach?" She said, her hand on Rachel's knee as she sat. "What happened?"

Rachel couldn't hold back the tears and cried into Quinn's shoulder. Quinn felt her mouth opening wanting to say something, instead her whole body cracked, and somewhere inside her head something howled back, a long unending scream consumed her. She couldn't breathe. Not like the way Rachel made her lose her breath, no, this was something that ripped from her insides, wanting to get out.

"Did he put his hands on you?" Quinn asked quietly, unblinking.

"No," she shook her head. "He said as long as we're together, he doesn't want anything to do with either of us, and that if I bothered him again he said I'll regret it."

Rachel's voice reached deep inside of her, hooking onto her sanity and dragging it back to the surface.

"He was so angry," Rachel said. "He wouldn't look at me, he wouldn't listen. I've never seen him like that."

Quinn stared into her eyes, as her rage slowly ebbed. Sensations and sounds returned, and she heard the harsh sound of her own breathing. The pounded in her heart subsided. "Rach, I don't want you to go near Finn anymore. He _threatened_ you!" Quinn's voice was ragged, and something hot stung the back of her eyes.

"He probably didn't mean it. He was angry. If I could just make him—"

"No, Rachel," Quinn held onto her temper with an effort. "Forcing him into this isn't going to get him to come back to glee. And I'm not going to risk you getting hurt just because you want him back in the club."

Rachel briefly met her gaze, but Quinn saw the guilt flash in that brief moment. "I—I don't want us to suffer at Sectionals because of me."

Shaking her head, Quinn refused to make Rachel feel any worse about herself. "We're not going to. We're going to win because of_ you_. _You're_ going to take us all the way to Nationals."

Slowly, Rachel smiled, and the last of her rage vanished as suddenly as it had come. Quinn wiped Rachel's tears with her thumb and said, "Finn will get over this. He just needs a little time. So promise me that you won't go near him. I _know_ you desperately wanted to talk to him today to try and get him to come back, but I'm not letting you do it again. Not after he threatened you."

Rachel appeared a little taken aback, but squeezed Quinn's hands in a silent gesture of gratitude. "I promise." Then she asked, "How did you know?"

"Hanging around you has made me a little bit psychic." She shrugged.

Rachel snorted. "You think you're so funny."

She laughed, then kissed the top of Rachel's head. After a brief silence, she said, "One day we're going to laugh about this." Rachel eyed her critically and she continued, "Finn's going to come knocking on our two storey house and say, hey, remember that time I caught you guys making out on the piano, and like you said you were dating and like I went all crazy on you? That was a funny moment so like I'm really sorry." She mimicked.

One corner of Rachel's mouth turned up and before it turned into a full smile, Quinn kissed her. Not just a peck on the lips either, but a hearty kiss that lasted minutes. Rachel pulled away and said, "When you said house, you meant mansion, right? As you should know, my talent will propel me to stardom, and my chosen form of accommodation will be mansions."

"And what? You're going to hire maids and adopt animals just so the hundreds of empty rooms will have some form of company?"

"Why, that's a great idea, Quinn." Rachel's girlish grin made Quinn's heart pound and she leaned forward to kiss her nose.

"I am not living in a house full of animals."

"Mansion." Rachel corrected. "Are you going to leave me and find someone else?"

"Perhaps I will." Quinn said, devoid of any significance. No matter how things turned out between them, her place was with Rachel. She knew it, with a certainty that went bone deep.

Rachel smiled back. "I don't think so. You're stuck with me, Fabray."

"Lucky me." Quinn said, her tone was wry—but the sudden seriousness in her eyes told Rachel that she meant it as the absolute truth.

**•••**

**February 15th, 2016**

Santana and Brittany were running late, Quinn didn't mind. She enjoyed watching the people of L.A. doing their late afternoon shopping, others out walking and taking advantage of the mild sunny evening. She had only been to L.A. on a rare number of occasions, therefore, the task of finding the restaurant Santana and Brittany had suggested had been a moment of embarrassment and social confusion. She was still reeling from the high that she had been cast for the role of Lepida in the movie her manager had suggested she audition, and on her high, she didn't see the young couple heading out from the restaurant and as she walked in, they collided into each other. Neither had been hurt, but they had looked at each other in momentary bewilderment. The young man stepped back, and crashed into his girlfriend, who in turn crashed into a waitress and she spilled her tray of plates and cutlery. Quinn—rattled—stood there for a few seconds watching the domino effect. When her mind cleared she apologized profusely. Everyone just wore baffled expressions.

She helped the waitress clean up the broken plates and cutlery, afterward taking a seat at the far end of the restaurant with her head leaning against the window. She thought of Rachel—of the first time Quinn came to L.A. and waited for her at a café—it was a time in their lives where misery never existed. Is it possible that the frantic pounding of their hearts and the chase for love and laughter are over now? And if the chase is over, is it over with Rachel, too? She found it hard to say out loud the words in her head, that things might have run their course.

Something definitely has to be wrong with the world when you feel as though you can't be with the person that you love.

"You're deep in thought."

She turned to see Santana and Brittany smiling at her. Quinn hugged them both. They smelled scrubbed, she could detect the clean antiseptic odor of soap—the ones in hospitals and bathrooms—and a faint scent of perspiration. Quinn refused to believe that her friends were late because they were having sex somewhere—but she wouldn't put it pass neither of them.

"Sorry we're late." Santana placed her jacket over the chair and took a seat. She smiled that devilish smile at Brittany and—yeah, they were having sex. "We had business to attend to."

"I don't really need the image." Quinn muttered. She looked around for a waiter and they ordered.

"So, Quinn, how's things?" Brittany was practically glowing.

"Okay, I guess." She lied. Nothing seemed real anymore. "How are things with the two of you?"

They eyed each other cautiously, but it gave nothing away. However, they seemed to penetrate right through Quinn. She raised her eyebrow, "Why are you two looking at me like I'm about to hit you or something?"

For a moment, Santana couldn't take her eyes off of Quinn's hair, and she thought she may have a bug in there. Then she slowly gathered herself together and glanced around. "We have to tell you something."

Their drinks arrived and Quinn took a sip of her iced-tea to clear her dry throat. "Okay?"

Santana seemed frightened. "We've been trying to call you but you never answered or rang back and we weren't sure if this was the right time or whatever and—"

"You're babbling, Santana." Quinn said quietly. "Listen, I'm sorry I've been M.I.A lately. You two have always been there for me and I shouldn't have pushed you away. And I want to be here for you—for whatever it is."

"Do you want to tell her?" Santana asked Brittany.

Brittany didn't say anything. She nodded slowly before holding up her left hand. Quinn saw the diamond sparkling ring twinkling at her. The heat in the room suddenly seemed intolerable and she couldn't concentrate. She became aware that she was sitting across from her two newly-engaged friends with her mouth hanging wide open. Santana shifted in her chair and Brittany rubbed the back of her neck, looking so unsure of themselves that when Quinn flung herself across the table to hug them, they could hardly breathe.

At the sound of scattered plates shattering to the ground, Quinn broke away and glanced at the customers and employees who watched in amazement and fright. Looking back at her two friends, she grinned widely, ignoring the faint flush of embarrassment. The three girls picked up the shattered plates until the waiter who had taken their orders sweeped up the mess and smiled kindly at them for their generous help.

When they resumed their position in the seats, Quinn said, "That's amazing! When did it happen?"

A smile curved on Brittany's lips. "A week ago. Santana proposed in Paris."

"I'm so glad our foods haven't arrived yet," Santana said. "You'd have ruined my meal with that uncharacteristic half-crawl across the table. It's really not that hard to stand up, Quinn." She laughed.

Smiling, determined to banish her cloudy, somber emotions, she stuck her tongue out. "I'm so happy for you two. I have to be a part of the extravagant wedding, right? I wanna be the maid of honor!"

Again, Santana and Brittany seemed frightened. She forgot about the pain in her heart, the incessant rumble of the noise in the restaurant. She must have looked dejected because instantly they both recoiled and realized their mistake.

"We've decided that you can be my female best man." Santana said quickly. "Hell no, am I making Puck my best man."

Santana was still talking, her lips moved, Quinn heard the rush of sounds but the only word she heard was _Rachel_. She read Santana's face instead: pleasure, joy, happiness, love. She had known a long time that Brittany was the one for her. How astonishing it was, to find your soul mate from such a young age.

She saw a figure walking through the front doors. Quinn could recognize her anywhere. And just like the world had shifted into place, Rachel's eyes found hers from across the crowded room, like it always had.

It happened then, her skin felt hot and prickly. The sky had suddenly changed, it had gone blank. Blank as a cataract, an enormous white eye. She felt anxious. All around her everything was the way it was, only, had it finally been bearable. She tried not to think about the mistake she had made, about the way she left Rachel and walked out of her life. She found that she couldn't shut it out, focus it down. It was terrifying. Loss. That's what this was. Grief, sorrow, wordless and unfathomable. Not what she was feeling this morning. This was distilled.

Rachel's simple words jolted her back into reality.

"Hi, Quinn."

Quinn blinked several times to clarify the image of Rachel in front of her, with trembling hands and all. She now knows how the farmers feel when the rain finally comes.

"Hi." She said softly.

Rachel took a seat beside her and their arms brushed lightly. "Sorry I'm late. I got lost on the subway."

"It's okay." Brittany smiled. "We were just telling Quinn that you'll be my maid of honor while she's Santana's female best man. Maybe we should call it best female?"

Santana chuckled, rubbing her hand over Brittany's in agreement.

Rachel didn't look up from her menu, she simply nodded, called the waiter over and—although Quinn couldn't be sure in her hazy-induced state—she heard Rachel order baked pasta and a side of potato salad. Quinn looked down at her area of the table and saw a plate of chicken masala freshly prepared, as if it had been magically conjured from her mind.

"Sorry we're not waiting for you, Rach," Brittany cut into her fish. "We're just hungry."

Rachel giggled, warm and hearty. "It's perfectly fine, Britt."

They started talking then, making up for loss time. Santana and Brittany talked about the proposal, the where, how, when. Brittany remembered every moment of it. They said they were considering a Spring wedding, a small gathering of close family and friends. Rachel talked about Broadway, how she's been working hard with her vocal coach, getting reacquainted with her friends from her _Avenue Q_ days. She mentioned several successful small roles in some auditions, they weren't many nor leading roles, but they were something to get her back on her feet. Quinn watched Rachel from the corner of her eye, and inside she ached. She felt something twitch inside, something deep and passionate, something that made her dizzy for a minute. Quinn talked about her audition, her recent move to L.A. Judging by Rachel's silence, she knew Rachel's thoughts were about her and she reveled in it. She didn't know what they were exactly, didn't really care, just knew they were about her and that was enough.

The waiter brought Rachel's food to the table and all Quinn could do was stare at it. It all comes rushing back to her, and for a while—for that very short while—she feels happiness running through her veins. The happiness to be alive. The dull pleasantness that she'd felt for weeks was replaced by a relief that descended on her like the eerie silence after a storm.

"That's a weird combination of food." Santana frowned while examining Rachel's meal with her fork.

Rachel shrugged. "I've been craving for pasta bake and potato salad lately. I don't quite understand it either."

Why it happened, Quinn didn't know, but this was when the chasm began to close for her, the chasm she had erected in her life to separate the pain from the pleasure. She reached over and touched Rachel's hand gently, a little amazed that Rachel didn't take her hand away. For a fleeting moment, she wondered whether Rachel was getting her memories back.

"That looks nice." Quinn said.

Rachel smiled, feeling a little unsure of herself. "Thank you. Would you like to try some?"

"No, thanks, I can't seem to finish my own food."

"Well, we should get going," Santana nudged Brittany. "We have a big day tomorrow, Britt. Got a booking with the wedding planner."

"But I just started eating," Rachel whined. "I sat and watched you eat. And we haven't had a chance to properly catch up."

"Quinn's here," Santana said. "She'll keep you company."

A dark cloud formed over Quinn's features. This had all been a set up. No wonder they ate so quickly, Brittany didn't even finish her whole meal.

Brittany wiped her lips with a napkin, then she got up from her chair in order for Santana to pass. She said happily, "Lunch is on us."

Quinn contemplated getting up from her seat to hug her friends goodbye, but she was too angry to care in that moment. She let her anger settle around her as she watched them leave. It was suddenly like high school all over again. Santana's childish games and controlling behavior to prove to Quinn what a mistake she'd make by leaving Rachel.

"You don't have to stay, Quinn."

Quinn sucked in a breath looking into Rachel's dark eyes, strong cheekbones, classic chin, chiseled everything. All of her was at ease while she dipped her fork into her pasta bake. Every cell in Quinn's body suddenly came alive.

"I can wait."

Quinn tried with all her might to come up with conversations in order to avoid the awkward silence between them. Neither brought up anybody outside of their high school social circle, much to Quinn's relief. Even Finn was ignored, and though both of them noticed the omission, neither mentioned it. Soon, they developed into somewhat of an easy ramble—made partners by the common bond of having emerged from a devastating accident of fear and trauma, and lost love.

They sat for a few minutes longer after Rachel had finished eating before heading outside. The fading sun sunk lower behind the puffy white cloud. Quinn let her thoughts wonder without conscious direction—until Rachel bumped lightly into her and she lost her train of thought.

"Sorry, I tripped." She blushed.

Quinn eyed her four inch heels. Rachel's forehead just reached her at eye level. "You're still shorter than me."

"I was hoping you wouldn't bring that up."

"So," Quinn swung her arms from side to side. "What are you doing now? Can I take you home?"

"You have a car?" Rachel asked.

"No, I—I was thinking we could share a cab."

"Oh, it's okay." Rachel pointed to her left. "My hotel is ten blocks from here. If I had known I wouldn't have had the need to run errands this morning and gotten lost on the subway."

"You're going to walk in _that_?" Quinn pointed to her heels.

Rachel looked slightly exasperated. "I can walk just fine. I've been walking in these all morning."

"I'll walk you." Quinn said before she had time to process her words.

"Quinn, its fine. I know how to—"

"Rachel," she said sternly. "You tripped walking out of the restaurant, and its _right_ there. Who knows how many times you're going to trip walking home. I'm starting to wonder how many times you've tripped coming _here._"

Quinn thought Rachel was going to argue with her some more, but then she sighed and started off down the street. Quinn caught up and they fell into step together, Rachel's heels clicking loudly on the pavement. Quinn liked the way the trees reflected off the sun in the light: greens, yellows, reds, oranges, every shade in-between. Their dazzling colors glow with the sun. It was a magic moment, a patch of softness in her brittle life.

If Quinn could summarize the past few weeks of her life to a stranger in a minute, she would tell them this:

She feels as if she's sitting in a little wooden boat that had been cut adrift from a ship. The boat was leaking and she had no oars. There was a big hole inside of it—like the hole inside of her heart—she didn't know how to live, what to do in order to survive. What could she do in that boat? Dip her hand in the ocean? Drink saltwater? Eat raw fish? Paddle until she found shore? She really didn't have much energy left. She would trudge the streets unhappily, she avoided going home to her empty apartment. Often times, she found it hard to breathe. And then she'd think of Rachel. She'd feel a little rush of relief. It was clear to her that the only pleasures in her life were thoughts of Rachel. That big hole in her heart was filled. She would try to take a deep breath and with a sinking heart she would be struck by the notion that only Rachel could oxygenate her.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice was quiet but it was enough to get Quinn's attention. "Did you sell our apartment in New York?"

"No," she said after gathering her thoughts. "I wouldn't have done that without letting you know."

"Do you mind if I get the rest of my things next week?"

She felt Rachel's hesitancy, and she wanted to cry then. Everything was wrong. She wasn't prepared for what was happening. It seemed a quantum leap from _everything's beautiful_ to _this_. And yet everything around her was undeniably real.

"Rach, it's your place, too. I'm coming back to New York. L.A.'s just temporary."

She nodded, biting her lip. Rachel changed the topic. "How long will you be in L.A. for?"

"A few months," Quinn watched a leaf fall from the sky. "I start tomorrow."

"I'm happy you got your life together."

Quinn concentrated all the pain into her head—that way she didn't have to cry.

"Are you nervous?" Rachel slowed as they came to a corner. "I've read the book. It's quite dark and raw. Excellent read though."

"Yeah," Quinn said, a little alarmed. "I don't know _anything_ about heterosexual sex anymore."

Rachel laughed, not like the little giggle she did in the restaurant. It was like music to Quinn's ears. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it."

Quinn turned to her and raised her eyebrow. "Do I detect a pun?"

"No!" Rachel gasped. "I didn't even know I said that."

Quinn laughed at her uncharacteristic reaction. She then asked, "Did you know I was going to be at lunch today?"

Rachel struggled to form a sentence, her eyes meeting Quinn's mutely. The light in her eyes died away and she concentrated on the pathway ahead. Quinn quickly scrambled for words. "No, Rach, I didn't ask because I didn't want you there. It's—I was just curious whether Santana and Brittany might have set us up."

Slowly, Rachel turned back to look at her, the bitter self-condemnation faded from her face, to be replaced by a look that made Quinn's breath hitch. "No, I didn't know you would be there."

"Would you have come if you knew?" Quinn found herself asking. And suddenly she felt panic. She had asked a question she didn't know whether she was ready to know the answer to.

Rachel put her hands into her coat pockets and Quinn hoped she hadn't heard her. A man walking his dog passed them and Rachel waved at him. "I would," she said quietly. "I would've come either way."

The farther they got from the busier streets, the darker it became even with the streetlights. Rachel moved in closer to Quinn. The feel of Rachel's body beside her own caused her to feel wired beyond what was pleasant. The ground seemed to tilt. Her heart stopped in her throat. The world that she had known disappeared, now it flipped into hyperdrive. And then all that she felt was loss, and the profound bewilderment of vertigo.

"I'm so sorry for everything." Quinn said, quickly, she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "I never meant to hurt you, Rach. Please, believe me. You were—are, still—the best thing that's ever happened to me and if I could take back all the things I've said I would."

Even in the dark, Quinn saw the way Rachel looked at her—not the eighteen year-old Quinn, not the Quinn who tortured her all those years—Rachel saw the _real_ her. For the first time in almost three months Rachel looked at her the way Quinn finally wanted her to, and she was beginning to sense that that part of her might still be alive.

"Do you think we could have made it?" Rachel said, after what seemed like the longest silence she had ever remembered.

"I think so." And then she added, "I don't think the story will ever end for us."

Rachel resumed her pace, but didn't say anything for a long time. Quinn felt a strange surge of exhilaration, and she wondered if she could still gather herself together and be the _Quinn_ that Rachel wanted her to be. To feel hope and love again. To have faith. The truth was, Quinn had told herself one night, even if one day she was ever able to pick herself up again and have Rachel be proud of her, there was guilt on her behalf—a broiling sea of guilt. Whether Rachel could ever forgive her was one story, but she could never forgive herself. It had become an effort trying to suppress it.

Rachel stopped in front of her hotel and Quinn looked up at the enormous building. Her tears were becoming harder to control.

"Can I ask you something?" Rachel said, Quinn nodded. "Why did you change your mind? I know I said something to make you want the divorce," she refused to meet Quinn's eyes. "Everything changed in those five minutes."

When Quinn met Rachel all those years earlier; they fell in love and begun their lives. Everything else, other than Rachel and herself, was absolutely peripheral. They had become each other's lives.

"You said to me," Quinn began, "I've been selfish and wanting you here with me because I've felt saved and loved. Love isn't selfish. It's kind and gentle and bursting of life."

Rachel seemed to understand where she was coming from but Quinn explained anyway,

"I've never been selfish when it comes to you, Rach." Quinn's voice began to crack. "I could never be selfish with you. And when it dawned on me that I had put myself before you, everything fell apart from there."

"You were doing what anyone would do in our case. That doesn't make you selfish." Rachel's eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "I don't want this divorce, Quinn. These past few weeks I feel as if I've been underwater, coming up to the surface only to catch my breath. Even then, it's hard to breathe. Nothing feels right anymore."

"Rach, you wouldn't have gone back to Broadway or had vocal training if I hadn't left."

"It doesn't mean I wouldn't have done it either way. Do you think it was easy for me? It took me weeks to put myself back together. You said you'd never leave." Rachel looked at her with flooded brown eyes. Her lips curled and quivered in sorrow.

The swirling in Quinn's head was almost unbearable, her body was wracked by nervous electricity. "For weeks I've been running relentlessly and I've arrived at exhaustion. After seeing you today it's as though I've surrendered to my tiredness. I don't want to run anymore, because it would mean I'd just be running away from you."

"I don't understand what you're trying to say." Rachel wiped her tears.

Quinn put her arms around Rachel to try and calm her. A look of unease crossed her face. "None of this is your fault, and I mean that as the honest truth. This is all my doing. I couldn't suck it up long enough to help you through it all."

Rachel's shoulders sagged. "Quinn, I still don't—"

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for walking out on you, but the damage has already been done. I can't change that, I have to live with it." The ache in Quinn's head was nothing compared to the ache inside. "You're not in love with me, Rach. You feel separated from me. They're two different things. What we had, continually, for four years was each other. That was all that mattered, that was all we knew. To you, the emptiness is because we've always had each other, it's not because you_ love me_."

Rachel had nothing to say to that. Swallowing, she shifted her gaze to the passer-bys on the streets and others walking in and out of the hotel.

"I don't want you to remember that you were in love with me and start from there, I want you to _fall in_ love with me." Quinn said quietly. "I know now that the reason I walked out on you was because you didn't look at me the same way you used to. It was unbearable to know that you no longer saw me for _me_. No one has ever seen through me the way that you have, and I love you for that—more than anything. Instead you saw my ice-queen persona, the girl who tortured you. I was sixteen to you."

Rachel's chin trembled, then she tightened her mouth. Quinn didn't want her to break down, no more than she wanted to sink down onto the ground surrounded by hundreds of strangers and cry like a baby.

"I don't want to run anymore, Rach," Quinn said. "But that doesn't mean that I'm suddenly going to be by your side from now on and pretend that nothing ever happened. I don't want to be with you knowing that you're not in love with me. It won't be fair on either of us."

In the brief instance their gazes met, a wealth of understanding passed between them.

Rachel leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. The wind crackled an easy whip in the air, and Quinn saw a shower of sparkles. She knew it was impossible, but she could smell Rachel's daisies.

"Two weeks, Quinn. Two weeks will be all it takes for me to fall in love with you."

Quinn knew she had heard her, but she didn't believe it. She waited for something to make her believe it was true.

Rachel put her arms around Quinn then, rested her cheek against her blonde hair. Quinn took her in a hard embrace, squeezing her eyes shut, and felt Rachel's body shudder under her own. When Rachel pulled back, she sniffed, tucked her hair behind her ear, and with a wobbly smile, she turned away heading into the building. Up the concrete steps, her footsteps echoed, the wind blowing her lush hair. She walked through the large revolving doors and her silhouette disappeared in the sea of people.

Slowly, Quinn dragged in a breath. She realized two things: she had a sudden craving for vegan ice cream; and, she can finally breathe again.

**•••**

**November 10th, 2011**

Quinn was sitting in the middle of the empty classroom waiting for Finn—she pushed her fury down to the depths of her soul, far away from civilization. She was confident that as far as Rachel and Puck were concerned she appeared content and that this was to be a friendly meeting between two exes discussing the possibility of remaining friends in the future. She was proud of the way she contained her fury, maintained an easy manner throughout the interminable minutes while she continued to wait. She nursed that pride, consciously submerging in thoughts of Rachel, so as not to lose it and snap. To lose it and have Rachel disappointed in her.

For days she silently rehearsed what she wanted to say, before finally convincing Rachel that this will be what they all need in order to get pass the situation and remain civil with each other.

The door knob turned and Quinn sat up straight in her position. Finn stood with his arms crossed, his face screwed tightly, his lips pressed together in a tight line, and his eyes flashing. "Alright, I'm here. If this is about glee or Rachel, I don't want to talk."

Even though Finn was putting on this face of wrath, Quinn could see through his mask and could sense his fear. "Too bad, Finn. It is about glee and Rachel."

"Rachel already tried to convince me to come back to glee," he said sternly. "She didn't care about apologizing for lying to me, all she cares about is that stupid club."

Now she wanted to scream, she wished that she could yell. Her eyes swept feebly over Finn's features, there was terror in his eyes, he was petrified. She smiled at the thought that she could still do that to him. "Listen, Finn, there are three things that you're not allowed to talk about in front of me. One, that can you make Rachel happier than I ever will. Let's face it, if you could have done that she wouldn't have broken up with you in the first place." Quinn paused to see him shiver. She continued, "Two, Rachel never lied to you. You need to get that through your thick head. What she did _after _you guys broke up and from _now_ _on_ is not your business anymore. You lost that privilege when you lost her." Quinn took a deep breath and finished off with, "Three, basically if you don't have anything nice to say about Rachel, don't bother saying anything at all. Because I will slap you."

Finn didn't respond right away. He smiled; it was a hateful smile, but a smile that built confidence. It was as if he had known what she was going to say and had been prepared for this meeting. "Do you think you can handle it, Quinn, being with Rachel? She thinks about the future, you know, she doesn't live in the present. She's probably already planned your wedding in her head right about now. Are you prepared for that? Are you prepared to come out to your mom and the whole school? Walk down the hallway hand in hand? Rachel wants that, you know? She doesn't want to be your little secret."

"You don't know anything about our relationship." She said, her voice now throwing off the ropes of restraint and sounding a note of hysteria.

Finn knew how to push her buttons. "I know that when Rachel wants to come out, you're going to snap and run like you always do when you get scared. How are you going to win Prom Queen with Rachel by your side?"

She started toward him, her anger, fear, and hate twisted and rolled together like a ball of barbed wire. Finn's eyes widened in surprise as Quinn rushed forward and seized the collar of his flimsy, cotton shirt, pulling him roughly down toward her. "I'm only going to say this one time, so listen carefully." She gritted her teeth, their nose inches from each other. "You're never getting Rachel back, so don't bother using lame tactics on me to make it happen. You never appreciated her enough to get to _know_ the girl under the animal sweaters. She's so much more than the diva and dreamer everyone makes her out to be, and you lost your chance to get to know _that _girl."

Separated, Quinn glared at him. He was breathing hard and fast. She caught her breath, picking up her backpack. "You don't have to come back to glee, I don't care. But for some reason Rachel does and she wants to remain friends with you, so I'm going to be civil to you for her sake. This has nothing to do with Puck, or lying to you. That was a mistake, but Rachel isn't."

"Did you even love me, Quinn?" His question caught her by surprise.

She looked up at him, gathering her composure and clutching the strap of her backpack to ease the tension within herself. "Yes, I did."

"And you feel nothing for hurting me?" He said in a tired, defeated voice.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, neither of us expected this to happen. But I'm not sorry for being with Rachel. We met online, I fell for her before I even knew who she was and by then it was too late to stop falling." This time Finn turned to meet her gaze, and she understood that he really did love Rachel, in his own uncharacteristic way. "I would like to remain friends with you, you're a seemingly great guy, sometimes. I never liked the way you treated her and I guess my hatred for you stems from that, but I'm willing to look pass it _only_ for Rachel's sake."

"I'll come back to glee," he said, trying to take in a softer, more reasonable tone. "I don't want to be a part of your life, not after this. But I will be waiting for Rachel and when you do break up, I'm going to do everything to win her back."

Quinn stared at him for a long moment. He gathered himself together and was looking more confident and satisfied than a wildcat with a fish between its paws. It had become a matter of his ego and pride, and when ego and pride are at stake, cowards and beggars could become heroes and kings.

He couldn't hold her gaze; he had to turn away. She glared at him one more time and then opened the door. "Good luck, Finn. You might have better luck in your next life."

Quinn stepped out without another word or wanting to see Finn's reaction. She slammed the door behind her as Rachel and Puck made their way toward her. Rachel pulled Quinn into her arms and hugged her hard, tight through her confusion. That blessed moment of relief when Rachel's body collapsed into hers she realized that her anger had subsided. It was good to be in Rachel's arms. Quinn knew that with her she could overcome anything.

"How did it go? Did he hurt you? Are you okay?" Rachel asked, her face wanting to ask a thousand more questions.

"I'm fine, Rach," she kissed the top of her head. "He's coming back to glee."

Rachel nodded eagerly, excitement in her eyes. "I hope this means Mr. Schue won't partner me up with Santana anymore. Did you know that she ridiculed my sweater this morning? Where were you to defend me, Quinn?"

Puck was laughing behind Quinn. "My grandma has that sweater."

Rachel's eyes fell to her sweater and her smile was gone. Quinn's ice-queen persona whirled around to glare at him. "Don't you have better things to do, Puckerman?"

Puck stumbled backwards with a sly smile on his face. "I hope you chicks will reward me with a hot and steamy kiss for getting Finn to meet you."

Rachel cringed, Quinn turned, rolling her eyes and tugging Rachel by the hand to follow her. "See you later." Quinn said, her tone was contemptuous.

"But Finn got to see you make-out." Puck yelled, but neither girls turned around.

"I have an idea," Quinn said, glancing down at Rachel, she slowed her stride so she and Rachel were walking side-by-side. They made their way out to the parking lot. "We should go get ice cream at the vegan place you introduced me to yesterday."

Rachel looked up at her, incredulously. "You ate two tubs of ice cream and now you want_ more_?"

Quinn bit her lip in embarrassment. "It was so nice I couldn't stop."

Rachel smiled widely and poked Quinn's stomach playfully. "If you don't stop eating like that you're going to get fat."

When she glanced down, Rachel looked so cute with her teasing smile that she stopped to break their stride. Quinn didn't let Rachel see the affect the smile had on her though, instead she gaped at her in shock. "Are you saying that you're going to leave me if I get fat?"

Rachel lifted her chin to say proudly, "I want to walk down the red carpet with my very _slim_ and gorgeous girlfriend."

Quinn started walking again, and Rachel caught up to her with little effort. Long legs, she thought, and then she had to kick herself for thinking of Rachel's bare legs wrapped around her waist. "I didn't know you were so shallow."

Laughing, Rachel got onto her tiptoes to kiss Quinn lightly. When they pulled apart, Rachel had on her best fluttery smile. There was twinkle of affection in Rachel's eyes and for that twinkle of a second, Quinn thought Rachel was about to say _it_: three words, eight letters. That clamor of her blood vessels began, her head was spinning a million miles a minute and the pounding of her heart—it was a luxurious over-the-top pounding of her heart. She had never felt anything like it. She was having an intra-body, extra-body, out-of-body experience.

Rachel never said it. She turned to walk to the passenger side of the car. Quinn stood stock still, staring at the spot where Rachel's body had been, hoping her head wouldn't explode. About thirty seconds later she felt she could finally move. She unlocked her car and neither said a word while she drove Rachel home. Strange, Quinn thought, the feelings the human body was able to process in such a short amount of time. It _was _an amazing rush. On top of the out-of-body experience, she felt juddery, jumpy and ultimately, just plain nervous. In the middle of it all, there was love and an enormous warmth for Rachel, for the way they started together, for _them_.

When Quinn stopped the car in front of Rachel's house, she said, "So, I'm guessing no ice cream?"

Rachel sat nervously in her position with her hands in her lap. Quinn didn't know what it was—perhaps she had been around Rachel a little too much lately, perhaps she had somehow developed Rachel's psychic abilities—but she _knew_. Rachel wanted to say _it_. She just didn't want to scare Quinn away.

"Rach," Quinn turned off the engine. I love you, too. As if Rachel could read her thoughts. "Do you want to do something this afternoon?" Then she shrugged, like it was no big deal whether they parted ways or not. "Or we could meet up tomorrow. We could watch a movie or something." Idiot, she scowled to herself.

"Do you want to come in?" Rachel said, finding her voice.

Suddenly remembering that she hadn't showered after Cheerios practice, she cringed at the thought of spending the afternoon with Rachel in such unsanitary clothing. "How about I come back in an hour and I'll make dinner?"

"What are you gonna make?"

"It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises." Rachel said softly.

Quinn rolled her eyes. _That_ wasn't a surprise. "I'll come back in an hour."

"Not three hours later like last time." Rachel warned, her hand on the door handle.

"One hour. I promise."

Rachel hesitated for a moment. Her eyes scanning over Quinn's face, she bit on her lower lip. Quinn's heart started pounding again. The twinkle in Rachel's eyes returned, it sparkled at Quinn, telling her, be prepared, Rachel's going to say _it_ any second now.

Rachel opened the door, stepped out and smiled, "I'll see you soon."

Quinn didn't drive home in a daze this time. She did almost hit a few cars because she wasn't paying attention to the traffic lights.

It's weird, Quinn thought, how you could be going along, and all you're thinking about is finishing high school, college, getting through another year, and then you fall in love and other thoughts get in there. It makes it seem like meeting Rachel the way she did was meant to happen—that they were meant to be. She was loving everything. It's like love integrates all parts of the world. With Rachel in her arms, she succumbs again and again to the luscious undertow of the pleasures of love. This was the high point of her life, she can't imagine it getting any better than this. Their eyes searched for each other in a crowded room, their minds wondered automatically to the thought of one another, their bodies melted together. The bright white light of love—Quinn was trapped inside the thickest of it all, and she didn't care if she never escaped.

Fifty-eight minutes later she was climbing the steps to the Berry household. She took her steps cautiously as she carried the bag full of groceries in front of her, and when she reached the top, she glanced around the neighborhood What do you know? She thought—she had showered, went to the grocery store, and judging by the tub of ice cream in her other hand, she even took a trip to the vegan ice cream parlor Rachel had introduced her to—she had continued on in a daze after all.

Rachel looked surprised when she opened the door at Quinn's knock, and she felt pretty stunned herself: all Rachel was wearing were shorts and a very old, very long, blue sweatshirt. Her hair was down in waves, and she was wearing no makeup. Quinn was ninety-nine point nine percent sure she had fallen just a little bit harder.

"What is that?" Rachel asked as Quinn passed her. "You bought ice cream, Quinn? Do you want to contract diabetes or something?"

"Thanks for your help, Rach, I really appreciate it." She said sarcastically, heading toward the kitchen and placing the items on the counter top.

Rachel peeked into the bag of groceries, but Quinn titled her head to kiss her, hard this time—no gentleness at all. Rachel returned her kiss with the same anxiousness, gripping the front of Quinn's shirt in her fists. Quinn became aware that Rachel was most likely not wearing a bra underneath her oversized shirt, and that thought increased her arousal.

Pulling away with extreme difficulty, Quinn asked, "Where are you dads?"

"You're thinking about my dads while you're kissing me?"

Quinn sniggered and rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Rach, I don't want to get caught devouring their spoilt daughter in the middle of the kitchen."

"If you're trying to make me laugh you're not doing a very good job." Rachel took out some plates from the cupboard. "My dads will be back later tonight. They said something about visiting friends." She then opened the potato salad Quinn had bought and attempted to plate it using a tablespoon. "Oh, crap." She said as the dressing spilled onto the table.

"You don't cook, do you, Rachel?" Quinn asked, half-laughing and eyeing her suspiciously.

"Oh, and you know so much about cooking?" Rachel was annoyed at this stage that she wasn't able to properly plate the salad.

Quinn took the spoon away from her. "I know that that spoon is for eating," she laughed. "You need a bigger spoon, Rach." She shook her head and went around the kitchenette to look for a larger spoon and instead found a frying pan with something horrible in it. "What is this?" Quinn asked.

"None of your business." Rachel blushed. Quinn raised her eyebrow at her and she said, "I thought I could make pancakes on my own. I got the recipe, but it didn't—"

Light dawned on her. "_This_ was the pancake you attempted yesterday and told me you almost burnt the house down?" Before Rachel could say anything, Quinn mumbled, "It's been twenty-four hours. Why haven't you washed it? At least throw the pan away."

"You're mean." She said, childishly. Quinn moved in to kiss her but Rachel pushed her away. "I'm not letting you kiss me after your snarky comments."

"If you're not gonna let me kiss you then I'm not making you dinner."

"Fine." Rachel crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of the counter-top. "I'll order take-out. I have been perfectly happy with take-out for the past sixteen years before you came along."

If this were a cartoon there would be fury electric sparks flying around the room between herself and Rachel. Quinn's eyes roamed down to Rachel's breasts and she could see her perked nipples evident through the shirt. She turned away quickly before a blush could form on her cheeks. However, Rachel caught her by surprise, leaning up to kiss her with no reservation at all. The familiar rush was fast and hot as always, hotter because there was comfort. Rachel felt so right under her hands, against her mouth, and when she slipped her arms around Quinn's neck, she kissed Rachel harder, falling into her helplessly. Rachel moved closer and her perfect mouth opened as her lush body pressed against Quinn's. Quinn no longer saw bands of stars swirling around her head, she saw birthdays and Christmases and paradise rolled into one glorious kiss and the voice in her head whispered, _say it already, damnmit!_

"I vote we just skip dinner," Quinn said when Rachel pulled away. "And make-out for the rest of the night in your room."

Rachel laughed, nestling her face between Quinn's neck and collarbone. "I'm hungry, baby."

That one word elicits five emotions in Quinn: love, arousal, bliss, excitement and warmth, which in turn accumulates to the following actions within her biological system: a palpitating heart, a joy rocketing from her toes to her head, her eyes flickered, she was transporting to an unknown reality where she was surrounded by light. Everything heightened from her pulse, blood to sensory nerves; she was teetering close to overdose. The loveliest high-wire there was. And the best thing was, she didn't need drugs, alcohol or any kind of illegal substance in order to achieve it. All she needed was Rachel.

"Say that again." Quinn whispered against her lips.

"Say what?"

"Baby."

Rachel laughed. She got on her tiptoes, her lips right beside Quinn's ear, and she whispered, "Baby," five times, and then her tongue snaked out to trace the shape of Quinn's ear. Quinn's pleasure snapped free.

A dog barked in the distance, bringing them both back to reality. Pushing aside their desire for one another, Quinn took the groceries out of the bag and began making dinner. It struck her suddenly, this will be her life with Rachel. They'd continue to argue and bicker about little things, Rachel would pout, Quinn would frown, talk would be kept to a frigid minimum, eye contact would be avoided. And just as suddenly when everything passed, they'd fall into each other's arms, as if the terrible tension had never existed.

Quinn made dinner, while Rachel sat on the counter-top and watched her, talking to Quinn about useless information she'd most likely never remember. For example, Rachel said, who do you think invented milk? Did someone just randomly wake up one day and think, I'm going to squeeze a cow and see what happens.

Quinn laugh out loud, she almost cut herself as she was slicing the vegetables. She realized Rachel was serious when she stopped laughing, and then Rachel ran to her room to Google the information. When Rachel came back down, her answer was, no one invented milk. A cow's milk was intended for their young and humans made good use of the product. It was German agricultural chemist Franz von Soxhlet who came up with the idea of pasteurization.

Maybe, just _maybe_ she'll remember that useless information.

"Rach," Quinn said over her shoulder. "Will you make yourself useful and set the table?"

Rachel grunted under her breath, although she did what was asked of her.

"You know, Quinn," Rachel said, putting some pasta into her mouth. "This is the first meal you've ever made for me," she paused to swallow and continued. "Pasta bake. I'm going to remember that and cherish this moment as we sit quietly enjoying the meal."

"What happens if you forget?" Quinn was eating the potato salad.

"I never forget anything."

Quinn loved the moments she was able to tease Rachel. "What happens if you do?" She repeated, slow and challenging.

Rachel's fork froze mid-air and she stared at Quinn. "Then I suppose you may choose a reasonable outcome and I shall achieve it."

Quickly, Quinn blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "I want a month's supply of vegan ice cream. All flavors, one for each day."

Rachel sat stunned for a long minute. Quinn watched the rise and fall of her breasts underneath her sweatshirt until Rachel's voice brought her eyes back up to meet her chocolate ones. "Your obsession with that is highly unhealthy."

"It tastes amazing." Just like I imagine the way you would taste.

"I bet you're thinking about having some now." Rachel resumed eating, and Quinn had to remind herself that Rachel was referring to the ice cream.

"Well, I didn't just buy a tub so I could stare at it." She laughed.

"Okay." Rachel said, after a while. "_If_ and when I do forget this moment, I will buy you a month's worth of ice cream."

They settled into a quiet and pleasant meal after that conversation. Dessert followed, Quinn ate the whole tub of vegan ice cream as Rachel watched her, a little bit of fascination in her expression. When they finished, Rachel cleared the plates and Quinn offered to wash them—because she was the guest, and really, it was the right thing to do—which, as it turned out, was a bad idea. Rachel happily obliged and sat on the counter-top watching Quinn wash the dishes. She was, however, generous enough to dry them.

It was nine-o'clock by the time they settled into Rachel's room watching television. The stars were out in full, the crickets a little quieter. Quinn wasn't entirely sure what they were watching, her mind wondered off into the part of her where insatiate thoughts about Rachel happened on occasions when they were kissing, in bed, or—basically just all the time, lately.

Turning over to her side, Quinn lifted her head slightly off the bed, looked at Rachel with hazy eyes, and leaned in slowly to kiss her. Rachel made a low sound in her throat and Quinn let herself sink further into the kiss—neither of them rushed it. Rachel was getting into it, kissing Quinn on the lips for a long while, using a little tongue, then moving her lips from one corner to the other. When Quinn noticed Rachel's breathing becoming uneven, she deepened the kiss, biting her gently on her lower lip. Rachel's back was slightly arched as Quinn rolled atop of her in one fluid motion.

Rachel's hand gently caressed her back, her arms, her shoulders, and she felt their heated bodies pressed together. Quinn moved to kiss her neck and nibbled gently as Rachel lifted her hips and the blood in Quinn's veins instantly flowed through in a rush of need and eagerness. She sucked in a breath at the sheer heat, the rightness. She moved her hand up to Rachel's breasts, and a whimper rose in Rachel's throat as Quinn gently touched them through the fabric of her shirt. Rachel continued to arch against her and Quinn pushed her back, her breath coming faster. Her eyes were hot and Rachel stared back, and then Quinn leaned back down to slip her tongue into Rachel's mouth, all the while she slid her fingers under the elastic edge of Rachel's shorts.

At the unmistakable press of Rachel's thigh between hers, Quinn involuntarily bucked her hips. She could feel Rachel's hands slide underneath her shirt, letting her hands explore Quinn's tensed back, her abdomen, and pressing her palm down to her breast over her bra. Quinn's body responded with anticipation.

Rachel's gasp of surprise restored her sanity. Her eyes flew open and she slowly lifted herself off of Rachel, only to be pulled back down,

"No, Quinn, keep going." Rachel said in ragged breaths.

Quinn didn't have time to protest because Rachel began kissing her again, and she rested her forearm on the side of Rachel's head, their hips driving to the same rhythm. Quinn dropped her head to the crook of Rachel's neck, low groans in her ear. Quinn's tongue traced along Rachel's neck and she drove her hips forward one final time. Rachel's muscles went rigid, she made a sound in her throat, then sharp, high gasps. A moment later, Quinn slumped beside her. Rachel's skin was faint with perspiration.

Quinn could tell Rachel wanted to say something, she was trying to catch her breath by taking in big gulps of air. Fifteen gulps later she was finally able to say, "Did you—?"

"No." Quinn said, honestly.

Watching Rachel had been amazing. Her whole life flashed before her eyes. Everything that's happened in her short seventeen years, all the good and bad things she had done, all the mistakes she'd made. It all led to this moment. It all led to Rachel.

"Do you want to—I mean," Rachel blushed heavily. "It doesn't seem fair. We can do it again if you—or I could leave and you—"

Her heart was like a tom-tom, beating to the message that this was it. She felt the inside of her body—which is her soul—or where her soul is, and a great intoxication engulfed her. And she could no longer stop it from coming out.

"I love you, Rachel."

Events like this make her realize that she hasn't felt anything in years. It was sensational, this new business of emotions. They seemed to be stacking higher and higher. This is love. And bliss. And all things beautiful.

"I love you, too."

At first, in her pleasant haze, she simply accepted the words. With an astonishing awareness, the room seemed alive. She felt suspended in time, utterly content. Then, she realized what Rachel had said. All the sweetness and tenderness in the world surging between them. She was where she belonged; where she would always belong.

Rachel wiped a few strands of hair away from Quinn's face, kissed her cheeks and nose, and then she said,

"Two weeks. That's all it took. Two weeks for me to fall for you."

Quinn had finally come home.


	9. Chapter 9

**I have no excuses as to why this is late. I'm terribly, terribly sorry. Writer's block is a horrible disease! But here, enjoy 14,000 words of Faberry goodness as a way of me to ask for your forgiveness. I promise to not make you wait as long in the future. **

**Also, there's a two month time jump.**

* * *

><p><em>Happiness, hit her like a train on a track<br>__Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back  
><em>_She hid around corners and she hid under beds  
><em>_She killed it with kisses and from it she fled  
><em>_With every bubble she sank with a drink  
><em>_And washed it away down the kitchen sink_

—Florence + The Machine: Dog Days Are Over

**•••**

**April 28th, 2016**

It had taken Rachel fifty days to return home to Lima. It was late afternoon when her flight touched down, and pressing her face to the window she watched the land clarify from a white-washed blur into houses and roads, turquoise fingers of water. She called her fathers as soon as the seat belt sign was disabled whilst the other passengers rushed about retrieving their overhead luggage.

They had sounded ecstatic.

She was struck with uncertainty once she stepped from the plane into the pool of bright light flooding the thick airport glass, until her fathers' arms were around her. She hadn't recognized them. Side by side they walked to the baggage claim; they picked up all five of Rachel's luggage. Both her fathers carried two each while Rachel hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder—Rachel Berry never did learn how to travel light.

"I can't believe you left with one luggage and came back with five." Leroy teased with a huge smile.

"I can't help it, daddy!" Rachel said breathlessly. "I don't know how long I'll be here so I bought everything."

Riding home, she squinted in awe at the sherbet-colored houses, the familiar brown hill leading toward the city of Ohio. The city seemed vast, metallic and glassy, so different from the city of New York. By the time they reached Lima, conversation had flagged. Rachel had only been away for fifty days but felt as though she hadn't seen her fathers in years, it all left her confused and she had no idea why. For the first time in weeks the memory of their last conversation reared up again in her: their disappointment at hearing she wanted to stay in New York, her abrupt and outrageous departure—one day she was visiting L.A. to meet Quinn, Santana and Brittany for lunch, the next, she was throwing her belongings in a luggage, leaving them nothing but a note stating that she would be living in New York with an uncertainty of her return to Lima.

"So. You had fun over there." Leroy finally said. It wasn't a question.

"I guess." She answered. "It was okay."

Leroy's brows rose, he said nothing.

"It was hard."

"Hard in what way?" Hiram asked.

"Scary."

A tender look passed Hiram's face. Only when it had passed did he turn to her. "We were scared, too."

"I'm sorry." Rachel protested. "I'm sorry for just leaving like that and not calling you for forty-eight days." It struck her now how little comfort she had provided in aiding her fathers' distress.

They spent the remainder of the ride—as well as the rest of the day—in silence.

That night as Rachel lay in her bed, she was racked by an intolerable sorrow. She had betrayed her fathers' trust. Once she had arrived in New York, it wasn't until two days later and after receiving three-hundred and seventy missed calls on her fathers' part did she finally return the gesture. Yes, staying in the apartment where she and Quinn had called home for three years was another way to continue the torment, but it was as if she had been driven by a passionate ghost. The moment she stepped through those doors into the apartment, she expected it to be gathering dust; to look like something lost in its past, but another memory had come alive.

"Rachel, you cannot stay there alone." Hiram had told her through the phone. "What if Quinn finds out?"

"She won't because neither you, daddy nor I will tell her. Besides, this is my place too."

"And what are you going to do there, in New York, alone?" Leroy asked.

"I don't know. Find myself again. I thought this was what you wanted?"

"Of course we do, honey—"

"Then what is the big deal?"

"Because it's scary, Rachel." Leroy argued. "You've lost five years of your life—"

"All the more reason for me to venture on my own and discover what I've missed. It might even trigger a memory. This is no different to the time I left for college."

"There is a huge difference." Leroy said again. "Back then you were going to college, you were doing something with yourself. What will you be doing there now? Where will you work? You don't know anyone."

"I have lots of friends, daddy. I'll reconnect with them. Please, let me do this. "

That signaled the end of the conversation. She didn't call them again until forty-eight days later when she landed in Lima.

It was different being alone in the apartment. When she looked at everything more carefully, she sensed something else. This was the place that had been the warm and comfortable setting for their love and promises. It wasn't just frozen in time; it was also alive in the present. The living room was neatly kept, the kitchen was well stocked with food, fresh food, the bathroom had been well scrubbed. On the wall the clock struck the hour and the blue music box that was shaped like a cottage opened its front door and the two tiny figurines within emerged and then retreated to the sweet and haunting melody. At closer examination a few days later, Rachel noticed that the two figurines were of herself and Quinn. Whenever she heard the chime of the clock it seemed an echo of Quinn's voice, reminding Rachel that Quinn was somewhere, waiting for her.

She spent most of her time staying indoors, having little contact with her friends, wandering around the apartment or lying on the bed she had shared with Quinn staring out the window, unaware of the passage of time. She slept and slept and when she wasn't asleep she daydreamed about the journey ahead. Sometimes she'd take to reading the newspaper, particularly the entertainment sections. Meryl Streep won an Academy Award for best Actress (her now fifth win). Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone made peace after a two year bitter argument over a cookie. Justin Beiber grabs a fan's breast in a photo. Kate Beckinsale hired a stripper for a friend's son's fourteenth birthday party. Dianna Agron and Lea Michele have finally admitted their true love for one another (who was surprised, really?).

That was the world in entertainment. The more she knew about it the less painful was its absence from her life. Everything Rachel read she hung upon their words and deeds as if she might be called to respond.

Rachel's first week home with her fathers was blessed with a certain novelty despite its disappointments, but as the second week passed, a numbing depression settled over her. Nothing had changed, and against the sameness of this city, her life within it—her time away in New York—seemed reduced to a brief hallucinatory flash. It had been a lost cause to go to New York, triggering no memories of the past five years. The subject of her memories seemed another person altogether. It was as if they are to be admired and envied by anyone other than herself. Strangely, being in the apartment was as though it was part of her heart and not her head. Everything seemed like it was in the right place, just the way she had locked it in her heart.

On her sixty-fourth day in Lima at 9:17 a.m., Rachel sat in her father's car and stared at the text message on her phone. **Berry, the rehearsal is at 10 am sharp. You better be here or I will haul your ass here myself**. After five years, Santana still scared the living daylights out of her. It was at this exact moment as her eyes scanned the road trying to navigate her way around Lima to reach the rehearsal that she realized Quinn would be there. She began to panic frantically—a jittery pulse that seemed to flutter.

The rehearsal was located in a vast estate in the heart of Lima, an all-in-one marriage compound complete with its own chapel (for the wedding day), banqueting hall (where the rehearsal would take place) and a privet maze (surrounded by a high wall topped with razor wire). Outside featured a bouncy castle for the children (an upmarket marital Disneyland).

To be here in celebration of her friends' wedding filled Rachel with an excitement almost impossible to contain.

Brittany was the first to run to her, her arms outstretched to pull Rachel into a tight and smouldering hug. Suddenly, she felt the weight of a hundred pairs of arms knocking the breath out of her. They were all speaking at once: it's so good to see you; we've missed you; oh my god you look so pretty; is it possible that you've shrunk a little since the last time. When she could finally breathe again, she glanced around at all her friends. It was hard to believe that a moment ago they had clung to her like a monkey. She could not for the life of her comprehend how blessed she was for their friendship.

"Come on, Rachel, I'll show you to your seat," Brittany pulled her away from the group. "We're just about to get started."

Rachel noticed that Brittany had developed a fuller figure, her gold hair flamed out about her small oval face, highlight by a pair of turquoise eyes so soft and vulnerable they could turn the hardest most cynical person into blubbering mess.

Santana looked stunning on her part. Her hair auburn under the light of the room, her brown eyes bright, she looked tanned, rich and graceful. "I'm glad you can make it." She said and gave Rachel a small hug. "Don't look so shocked, Berry, we've hugged before." She laughed at the stunned expression on Rachel's face.

"Congratulations." Rachel grinned widely. "I'm so happy for the both of you. I knew you would marry some day."

"Whoa, hold up, Berry," Santana said, a slight smirk on her face. "We're not married yet. Save your congratulations for the actual wedding."

Rachel felt a breeze to her right and turned just as she saw the face walking through the crowd. She lingered on even after the person had disappeared but they were eyes she would know instantly and forever. Rachel stood simply gaping, her heart was pounding so hard in her ears that all other sound was drowned out. She didn't hear the laughter, the music, or the conversations. It took her a moment to realize that Quinn was at her side.

Quinn kissed her cheek and hugged Rachel to her tightly, too tightly. She inhaled the sweet aroma of Quinn's perfume and there was a sudden vision of herself and Quinn standing in the middle of the hallway between her living room and kitchen, her fathers standing across from them looking baffled. In this vision Rachel was looking up at Quinn. Quinn's face was filled with happiness, her cheeks crimson, her eyes lit, her mouth opened in utter awe. Rachel squeezed her hand to bring her back to reality, then dropped it when Leroy said,

"Well, this is awkward."

"I'm so sorry," Quinn said apologetically. "It's been one crazy afternoon." She paused for a moment, a smile appearing, "Hi, I'm Quinn."

"Nice to meet you, Quinn." Hiram brought her in for a hug. "You smell nice. What is that? Chanel No. 5?"

Rachel didn't gather the rest of the conversation, her mind was clouded by a happiness so overwhelming. In the brief moment she had stared into Quinn's blazing, hazel eyes, she saw the start of a new life, the promise of a perfect future.

Quinn's fingers pressed against Rachel's back and she blinked rapidly to regain her composure and to those present around her. Quinn's lips grazed her cheek again, and for a moment, only a moment, a chilling sense of intimacy knifed through her heart.

"You still have that perfume." Rachel whispered.

"I'm sorry?" Quinn asked.

"You wore that same perfume the first time you met my dads."

Quinn didn't respond. She was still holding Rachel so closely and tightly. Rachel stared into the swirl of brown and green and gold in Quinn's eyes. She could feel this need to have Quinn with her always, a need that made her claustrophobic, a need so great it frightened her.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a man's voice boomed in the microphone. "It is my pleasure to welcome you all to this wondrous wedding rehearsal of Miss Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez." His eyes scanned the clipboard in his hand and he proceeded to say, "Before we begin this rehearsal, I would like to congratulate the lovely couple on their impending nuptials."

Neither Rachel nor Quinn moved until Santana whispered something in Quinn's ear and she released Rachel to follow Santana to the stage. Brittany tugged Rachel's arm and she took a seat beside the bride-to-be. The crowd of well-wishers cheered again and the rehearsal was underway. The band they hired played a mixture of music from rock and roll to classics and easy listening, the melodies were upbeat and created the right atmosphere. Brittany and Santana only invited their closest friends and family to the rehearsal, their friends from high school were sitting at a small table huddle together. A few people Rachel had never recalled meeting came up to speak to her personally. They asked how she was feeling, said they were scared for her life during the time of the accident, and wished her well for the future.

From her position at the front of the room Rachel watched Quinn counting off on her fingers, and wondered what she was doing. In profile, there was the beginning of puffiness under her eyes (most likely due to the ungodly hours of filming), but Quinn still looked stunning. Marvellously stunning, actually, far less pasty and deflated from the last time Rachel had seen her.

The man on the stage went on to explain both the brides' fathers and best female will be delivering there speeches at the reception. Afterward, there will be a performance by a special guest, as well as the couple's first dance. Brittany's face was beaming so bright it nearly bought Rachel to tears. Rachel glanced across in time to see Puck standing beside Quinn and squeezing her hand. He whispered in her ear, and Quinn looked up at him, smiling broadly and a little dopily. She mouthed something back, and though not a practiced lip-reader, Rachel thought that there was a good chance it was, I've missed you too. Self-consciously, Quinn glanced around and caught Rachel's eye, grinning as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't.

The rehearsal was coming to an end. The band on stage sung an uncertain rendition of _All You Need Is Love_, before the guests held up their glasses in unison, toasting to Brittany and Santana's happiness and future together. Rachel watched as Brittany and Santana kissed, almost oblivious to everyone and everything around them. The eruption of cheers broke them apart and the guests dispersed to congratulate the happy couple once again. Through the crowd of people hugging, whooping and shaking hands, Rachel and Quinn sought out each other and suddenly here they were.

Sixty-four days. Rachel repeated in her head. She hadn't seen Quinn in sixty-four days.

"Well." Quinn started.

"Well."

"I didn't get to properly greet you before Santana rudely pulled me away."

"It's okay. I'm quite familiar with who you are." Rachel said, lightening the mood.

"Yes, I'm the only woman here who's drenched in sweat." Quinn began plucking at the fabric beneath her arms.

"You mean _perspiration_."

"Actually, no. This is sweat. I look like I've been dragged from a lake."

Rachel glanced across to where Brittany and Santana were posing for the photographers. Quinn followed Rachel's trail and sighed heavily, but didn't say anything else. Rachel imagined Quinn reminiscing about their wedding, their happy smiles, their vows to each other, their promise of a happily ever after.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Quinn asked.

The overcast morning had settled into a beautiful afternoon, high clouds rolling across huge blue sky. It was warm outside, birds were swooping overhead in the inky spring air as they walked side by side through the rose garden toward the maze.

"So, was I right about the perfume?" Rachel finally asked.

Quinn winced, nodding slowly.

"What date was that?"

"November third." Quinn didn't elaborate further. "How have you been? What's been happening in your life?"

Rachel shouldn't have been surprised by the sudden change in topic. They entered the maze and her legs began feeling wobbly. She shivered and her expression of pain and confusion must have troubled Quinn.

They stopped and Quinn rested her back on the hedge. For a long moment she simply stared at Rachel, sighing deeply, before raking her fingers through her mass of waving hair. Quinn's skin was glowing in the sunlight, but it looked as though she had been shut from life for ages. Rachel's heart cried out for Quinn and had the urge to embrace her.

"I don't know what else you want me to say to that." Quinn muttered.

"Tell me the significance of that day." She pleaded.

"I don't really want to talk about this, Rachel."

Rachel lifted her heavy, troubled eyes only to see Quinn's cloudy with foreboding. "I've been spending two months in our apartment hoping it would provoke something, only to wake up every day with blank memories. I see you for five minutes and it's as if the neurons and cells in my membrane let off a spark of recognition at your perfume. So, please don't tell me that you don't want to talk about this because being with you elicits something in me, Quinn."

Quinn resumed walking as if that had explained it all. They walked a little way in silence listening to the muffled thump of the band playing to _Dog Days Are Over_.

"You've changed." Quinn finally said. "You've grown older, wiser looking. Your beauty has matured. It makes me tremble to be this close to you, to actually hear your voice now." Quinn reached out to touch Rachel's hand only to retrieve back before it touched her skin. A momentary pause before Quinn spoke again, "November third is our anniversary. It was the first time I met your fathers and also the first time we slept together. Not slept _slept_ together." Quinn laughed at Rachel's wide eyes. "I stayed over that night because there was a Friday the thirteenth ritual that you had to uphold."

They stopped at a junction. "Left or right?" Quinn asked.

"Right." Rachel answered making the turn. She covered her face with her hands and giggled into it. "Oh my god, I can't believe I did that. I was thinking about it the other day just as the thirteenth had passed. Left?"

"Left." Quinn said.

"Did it rain any time during those ten days leading up to the thirteenth?"

Quinn nodded. "The very next day, actually."

"And I bet you teased me relentlessly?"

"That is my utmost superb talent."

A moment passed, perhaps half a second when their faces said what they felt and then Rachel was smiling, laughing. "I'm so embarrassed."

"It was adorable." Quinn said honestly.

Rachel shrugged sheepishly, bumping her shoulder against Quinn's. "I have my moments."

"What else did you do in New York?"

"I spent a lot of time in doors, to be honest. It was scary being in the Big Apple, not knowing where to go, what to do. I had no sense of direction."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I wanted to do something on my own. I thought I could accomplish something." They stopped and Quinn made a right turn, Rachel following close by. "You don't mind me being there, do you?"

Quinn's eyes flashed with life and light for the first time. "Of course not, Rach."

"How about you, Quinn? How's filming?"

"Tiring." Her tone conveyed her emotions. "There have been a lot of night shoots, by the time I finish it's usually five a.m. With any luck I'd get a good four hours sleep and I'm back on set again."

"Have you done any _scenes_ with your male leads?"

Quinn raised her eye-brow. "Rach, how old are you?"

A pause. "Twenty-two..."

"And you can't say _sex_ because it's a difficult word to say at age twenty-two?"

Rachel bumped Quinn's shoulder a little harder this time and pouted. "I am sixteen at heart."

"You don't say." Then, "Yes, I have done a few _scenes_ with my leads."

"How is that?"

"Let's just say faking it isn't as hard as I thought. Right or left?"

They peered in either direction. "No idea."

"Amazing, isn't it, how quickly this stopped being fun."

"Let's go right." Rachel tugged on the sleeve of Quinn's cardigan. "When do you wrap up?"

"Hopefully not much longer. I can't wait to be home. L.A. is hot."

"You have developed a very radiant tan."

"Are you serious?" Quinn almost toppled over with laughter. "I don't tan, Rach. I burn."

"That is true. But I've noticed there is a light, golden glow on your skin. Especially in the sunlight."

"Uh—thanks. I think. Turn right, Rach."

A mood was lifted while they walked silently. Rachel was feeling sentimental and nostalgic, she could only hope that Quinn felt the same.

"I knew you would be there."

"Hmm?

"In the apartment," Quinn emphasized. "I knew you would be there."

"How?"

Quinn stared at her, this time reaching out to caress her fingertips across Rachel's hand. "You're very predictable."

"Is that why you left fresh food in the cabinets?"

"Uh huh."

"Cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the bathroom—"

"Left this time."

"—neatly made the bed?"

"Yes, yes and yes."

Rachel gave a low chuckle. "You know me more than I know myself."

"Well," Quinn dragged out the word. "I guess it wasn't the sex that made me stay with you for four years."

Quinn's eyes remained on Rachel's face to see how it might change when she said that. Rachel smiled up at her, lovely and warm, her heart in her eyes. "It must have been great considering you married me."

Quinn was smiling at her, it made Rachel dizzy for a moment, then Quinn started to laugh. "Sixty-four days apart has made you very witty, Rachel Berry."

The world seemed to fade away beneath her at that point. It was like she was fainting, but wonderful instead of scary. _Sixty-four_ _days_. That's what Rachel couldn't stop thinking about. At first she thought it came from her own voice, but when she repeated it in her head it was Quinn's. Rachel leaned up to pull Quinn into a surprise hug. She was full of affection and a certain sadness too, she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was coming to an end. Rachel wanted to say something along these lines but thought it best to not do this through a joke.

"I must have unconsciously picked up on your wittiness along the way."

Quinn twisted her head to look at Rachel and suddenly something was moving between them, something alive and vibrating in Rachel's chest.

"Is that your heart?"

"It's my phone."

Rachel stepped back and retrieved her phone from inside her blazer pocket. Glancing at the display, she wrinkled her brow at the unrecognizable number. She gave her head a little sobering shake and answered, "Hello?"

"Rachel Berry? It's Russell Fabray."

The wind crackled a dangerous whip in the air. She was trembling, her nerves shot. She turned away from Quinn. "Yes?"

"I'm calling to ask whether you have received the divorce documents my assistant sent over two months ago?

"I did. Yes." She remained as calm as possible.

"As you may know, the documents states that you had thirty days. Will I be expecting them signed and sent back to me?"

Rachel glanced at Quinn, pretending to be captivated by the hedge in front of her. She thought for a moment, then turned away again. "No, I will not be sending them back to you."

Russell was silent for a long time. If it weren't for his heavy breathing, she would've thought the call had ended. Finally, his voice came through, "You do know what this means, don't you? You're delaying the inevitable."

Rachel felt a flash of despair. She lowered her voice. "I'll see you in court."

"Who was that?" Quinn eyed the phone suspiciously when Rachel put it back in her pocket.

"We should get out of here."

"Are you okay?"

Rachel took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah." She looked in both directions, hopeless. "We should have left a trail of bread crumbs."

The band was playing _It's Raining Men_ and they listened to the muffled sounds as if it held a clue to their whereabouts. "We should get back before it starts raining men." Rachel said again.

Quinn cocked her head, studying Rachel with sad eyes. She didn't press further. "Good idea."

Rachel walked quickly, trying to hold the fragile emptiness in her mind. She kept thinking about the past sixty-four days. Most nights before she went to sleep, she thought about Quinn—trying to conjure some kind of memory, sometimes fantasizing about their times together, or sometimes simply wondering where Quinn was or hoping she was happy and well. The last time they had seen each other, exhaustion overwhelmed her, as well as the depression of not knowing when she'll be able to see Quinn again.

The fingertips of her left hand passed across the surface of a statue that seemed familiar, and now Rachel knew where exactly they were. Turning right, and then left would bring them out into the rose garden, back to the party, back to their friends, and there would be no more time to talk. And Rachel saw, with a dreadful clarity, that this signaled the end of her relationship with Quinn. Once the divorce was final, there would be awkward glances across the rooms, separate meetings with friends, they would no longer see each other. It wouldn't be sixty-four that she would be counting to; it could be one-hundred, five-hundred, possibly even three-thousand. Three-thousand days until she saw Quinn again. She stopped on a corner, a numb, dizzy sensation over taking her as if her heart was squeezing all the blood to her head.

"Rachel, what's wrong?" Quinn ran her hand up the length of Rachel's spine.

Rachel turned and took both Quinn's hands in her own. "Can I say something? Before we go back to the party?"

"Go on."

"It's—I—I missed you. And before you argue that fact and say that I don't—"

"I missed you, too."

"But so, _so_ much, Quinn. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about, and you weren't there—"

"I'm sorry."

"And I feel a little guilty, like it's my fault. I've failed and now our life is like this—"

"None of this is your fault, Rachel. Fate is trying to torment us."

"Even so, I just wish there was some way for me to get—"

"I should have stuck it out a bit. I shouldn't have left. I should have tried harder. I should have kept in touch with you. Take the blow."

"Quinn, you need to stop interrupting me!" To her embarrassment, Rachel found there were tears in her eyes.

Quinn smiled. "Come here." She put her arms around Rachel. Rachel breathed in the smell of shampoo and damp silk into Quinn's neck, her perfume, the smell of Quinn's dress, and they stood like this for a while until Rachel caught her breath and spoke.

"I'll tell you what it is. This isn't me missing you because we've been a part of each other's life for four years. It's—when I don't see you, I think about you every day. I mean _every day_ in some way or another—"

"I do, too."

An annoyance flashed across Rachel's eyes at the interruption but she continued, "—Even if it was just, 'I wish Quinn could see this' or 'where's Quinn now' or 'damn that Quinn Fabray how dare she leave me'. Do you understand what I'm saying? Seeing you today has made me realize how much I want you in my life, whether I have those memories or not. And you're right, Quinn, I'm not in love with you, not yet, but I don't doubt that I won't be in the future. And now the divorce is just around the corner and I feel as though I'm going to lose you forever. _Forever_ as in we'll never see each other again. _Ever_."

"I don't—how, why?"

"Once the divorce is final you'll go your separate way. You'll return to acting or whatever you're doing. You won't have the burden of—"

"That's not—"

"Quinn, shut up and let me speak!" Quinn's jaw clamped immediately. Rachel continued as though nothing happened. "You won't have the burden of taking care of me, you'll have your own responsibilities. Your priorities will change, you'll find a new lover. You'll start a family with said lover, a baby, which will then lead to new friends, nice young couples that you meet at ante-natal classes who'll have babies too and they'll also understand. You'll be too tired because you've been up all night with your child—"

"Are you predicting my future for me?" Rachel laughed along with Quinn, and at that moment she thought that there was no better feeling than seeing Quinn Fabray laugh. "It won't be like that."

"Your future or us drifting apart?"

"Both."

Rachel stepped back to look at her. "Do you promise? No more disappearing?"

"I promise."

This time, Quinn caught Rachel by surprise and wrapped her arms around her waist, putting her face in Rachel's hair and breathing her smell. They separated and Rachel went to kiss her cheek just as Quinn turned her head, their mouths glancing for a moment so that they tasted each other's lipstick. The moment held a kind of glorious confusion.

"What's the time?" Rachel said, twisting her face away. The walls of her heart quivered.

Quinn tugged up her sleeve and looked at her watch. "Almost three."

"Well! We should go. Everyone is probably worried about our disappearance."

"Doubtful." Quinn rolled her eyes.

They walked in silence, unsure about what would happen next. Two more turnings brought them to the exit of the maze, and back to the party, back to their friends. Rachel was about to open the heavy oak door when Quinn took her hand.

"Rachel?"

"Yes, Quinn."

Rachel waited anxiously, anticipating that Quinn would take her hand and lead them back into the maze. She would turn off her phone, and they would stay there until everything was over, get lost and talk about all that had happened. Fall in love over again.

"Friends?" Quinn said eventually.

"Friends."

**•••**

**January 3rd, 2012**

Rachel has dreamt of this moment: her two month anniversary with Quinn. Their love was full of yearning and anguish and passion, there was a steady pulse of pleasure and occasional (Santana would argue _frequent_) irritation; if there had been moments in her life when she had been more elated, there had never been a time when things have been more constant. There was a deep intensity, not just in their romance, but in their friendship as well.

She would leave love notes, song lyrics, letters in Quinn's locker, in her books, around her room; romantic (Santana would argue _insane_) things full of Rachel's witty sentiment and barely hidden meanings, exclamation marks and underlining. For a long while she wrote love letters to Quinn, on top of the hour-long phone calls before bed. On the eve of their fourteenth day romance, they stayed up talking and listening to music, only stopping when the sun had began to rise. Another time they spent an afternoon swimming by the river when it had been unseasonably warm. They created a new Chrismukkah tradition whereby they spend quality time in the confines of their rooms and simply (for lack of a better word) make-out for seven days of Hanukah and one day of Christmas. Rachel recorded all of these moments and more in notebooks and letters and photographs. She wanted to remember every moment she spent with Quinn.

At times her mind wonders into the future, if someone asked her—as they sometimes do at parties—how she and Quinn had met, she would tell them: we grew up together. And that smallest act left her with a kind of sensory overload.

It wasn't a secret that sporadically they bickered (Santana would say _regularly_), it was what separated Rachel and Quinn from other couples, and this seemed to be their regular exchange; but it was times like these that Rachel could sense something bigger than a bicker, something that neither she nor Quinn would be able to control.

They sat in the car in the small town of Lima where (remarkably) all the restaurants were identical. The air hung smoky with burning, rich cuisine. The heavy snowfall had lightened considerably over the past few days, sunlight even peeped through some thin clouds. Madonna's _Get into the Groove_ perfumed in one of the restaurants closest to which they were located. Quinn was joyfully eating a bread roll as her eyes roamed across the harbor where they sat (again, in the car). She then proceeded to pick up the plastic knife and fork and picked at the salad on her lap (held in a take-out container), all of which Rachel assumed must have tasted delicious because she let out a soft moan.

Quinn turned and looked at her, the cool breeze (from the car) blew a few strands of hair away from her face. Rachel's eyes roamed to the smoothness of her neck, following the curve to her sternum but she couldn't enjoy the sensuousness it evoked. The sun's rays gave Quinn's eyes a sparkling, emerald green color and Rachel wondered why she had never noticed until now.

"Is there something on your mind?" Quinn asked through a mouthful of bacon.

Rachel smiled, but her manner was stiff. She put on (what she knew) was a good performance: remain nonchalance, do not flare your nostrils, smile brightly and not the kind that flickers at the mouth, and then she spoke (calmly), "Remember when you said that we were going some place special for our anniversary?"

"Yeah."

"Well," she glanced around the restaurants, buildings the color of coconut. "Was this the special place that you had in mind?" Her hands signaling the inside of the car.

Quinn broke off another piece of bread and placed it in her mouth. "Uh huh. Why?"

"Oh, no reason, no reason," she blubbered. "I just—I just wanted to make sure."

Rachel shifted uneasily in her position (she could not stress this enough, they were in the car). Quinn was acting so aloof she had wondered whether this was all part of the arrangement of wanting to test Rachel's patience before serenading her in front of the crowd, declare her love to Rachel by the harbor, two aeroplanes will fly by with a sign saying, I love you, Rachel Berry, marry me.

At first she thought, okay, Quinn will finish eating and then she'll serenade me. But an hour passed and they remained in the same position. It was a comfortable silence while she watched Quinn eat her bacon with salad. Quinn had an endless supply of bacon. It was quite endearing. The way her lips were a little greased, the corners of her mouth trickling with a tiny amount of dressing, her tongue occasionally darting forth. An hour later and Quinn wasn't showing any signs of acting upon anything on Rachel's wish list.

Quinn licked her lips and made her eyes sultry along with other tiny adjustments. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and when Rachel looked up again, she was struck with how attractive Quinn had become in the span was two seconds (not that she was never attractive, just more than usual). "Did you have somewhere else in mind?"

Rachel sat dumbstruck. The fork in her hand snapped in two. Quinn didn't even flinch. "To be honest, I didn't think we'll be having lunch out of a container in the parking lot."

A frown crinkled Quinn's brow and her eyes flickered, catching sight (as if for the first time) to the sights around them. Whether Quinn was shocked or disappointed, she didn't show it. In fact when she spoke her voice was delightful. "Rach, I think you're missing the big picture."

"Am I?" Now she was really confused and Rachel Berry was rarely confused but Quinn Fabray was always the reason behind said confusion. "Humor me, Quinn."

"I mean, we're alone, right?"

Rachel paused for a whole five seconds. "Yes."

"Correct, we're alone in the car." Quinn said it in a way as though Rachel would be getting a gold star beside her name. "You've been saying we should experience new things as a couple and eating in the car is a new experience. Part of the whole retro drive in thing. Minus the actual Drive-In because Lima doesn't have one."

Rachel pressed her lips together and agreed for the sake of agreeing, although there was a loathing in her tone. "Okay, Quinn, I understand your point. But all I'm saying is, that sometimes, a table—"

Quinn reached over and sipped on her straw from the plastic cup. She ordered a large so that they could share.

"—waiters too, maybe even a romantic setting."

Before speaking, she chewed on more bacon. "How is this not romantic? We're sharing a drink—"

"_You_ drink diet coke."

"We have delicious food, great romantic music—" She turned up the volume on the stereo and _Queen's, Stone Cold Crazy_ blasted through the speakers.

Rachel reached out to turn it down. She wasn't angry to be exact (more like enraged and on the verge of being psychotic). "First of, eighties retro bands is not romantic. And secondly, you parked the car in the middle of a parking lot surrounded by restaurants, a lot of romantic restaurants to be exact, and instead you buy me food in which I did not order and call this a romantic celebration of our love."

Quinn remained undeterred by Rachel's outburst. She continued to smile, looking somewhat ethereal. Rachel wanted to give her a shock treatment so she could come crashing back into reality. "Is a picnic romantic?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" She folded her arms and refused to look at Quinn.

"Picnics. They're romantic, right?"

"Yes."

"There's no waiters in a picnic. I bought you the food when we last had one. How is this any different? Is it the donuts, Rach?" Quinn's smile widened, eyes teasing. "Are you mad that I'm not feeding you Krispy Kreme donuts this time?"

Rachel bumped her head on the dashboard, not once, but twice, and slumped back onto her seat in a huff, like a child sent home from school. She said nothing and refused to look at Quinn. Quinn poked her several times, first on her arm, then her shoulder, then she moved to Rachel's stomach and that did the trick. Rachel squirmed, then shifted away as if Quinn's arm wouldn't be long enough to reach her.

"Quinn, stop—"

The moment Rachel turned to face her, Quinn took that pouting face between her hands and kissed her. She leaned so far across the middle, the gearshift was thrusting into her stomach. She let go of the anger (for now) that was building up inside of her and reached up for Quinn's neck, and Quinn shifted the pain on one part of her stomach to another. As Quinn's parted lips met hers, Rachel started to feel breathless in a new and fascinating way. This was what Quinn did best, aggravating and mocking her till she was broiling with anger and confusion and loathing and just like a puff of air Quinn would erase it all by giving her a kiss that consumed her until suffocation. This was one of their more sweeter kisses—sounds were foreign in her ears, the cars, a police siren in the distance, the wind. All she heard were the faintness of her own moans as it welled in her throat.

Quinn's fingertips feathered over Rachel's neck, stomach, her thighs, all of which increased the pool of liquid warmth in her body. Finally, Rachel relaxed and she felt Quinn's body fall into her. Rachel's hand rose to Quinn's breasts through the fabric of her shirt, teasing and arousing. They were spiraling down into an abyss of raw pleasure. Their lips broke apart when Quinn began to pant, their foreheads touching, their noses tip to tip. Rachel marvelled at the colors in Quinn's eyes, they were hooded and filled with passion she hadn't anticipated.

"Shit." Quinn said, reclining back into her seat. Rachel looked around at the splattered food on the floor mats. "Damnmit, look what you did, Berry."

And just like that, those emotions returned. "Me?! You—"

"I was joking."

Rachel wasn't impressed. "Take me home."

"You're not still mad, are you?" Quinn picked up the fallen container and placed it into a plastic bag. Then she picked up the fallen pieces of lettuce and bacon.

"This was not the celebration I had in mind."

Quinn shrugged, not paying much attention to Rachel. "I have to get the minions to clean this car on Monday."

"Minions?"

"Cheerios." She said casually. "Rachel, pick up your mess."

Rachel's eyes were detested as she glanced at the mess on her side of the car. "You did this, Quinn. I didn't ask you to kiss me."

"But you looked so cute over there, pouting and all. Your lips were begging me to kiss you."

"My lips do no such thing!"

"It does from my perspective. Pick it up, will you?" Quinn nudged Rachel once more to get her attention.

After a moment, Rachel abruptly picked up the empty box and threw it at Quinn's head. Quinn was quick with her reflexes and it flew out the window. "Hey!"

"Quinn, take me home."

Quinn let her head fall backwards and let out a long, low groan. Within minutes, they were on the road again. Rachel turned her head to stare out the window, letting the breeze take over her. Her body released something into itself. She was flooded with a substance that might have been adrenalin. It was deeply unpleasant. She shouldn't have given Quinn such a hard time; it was only two months, after all, and it was being with the woman she loves on this joyous occasion that mattered.

At the traffic light, Quinn turned on the radio to a contemporary station, keeping the volume low. She drove with intense concentration and Rachel assumed that Quinn was trying her best to control her temper. It was best not to disturb her.

When they passed Rachel's house, she instantly sat up, taking her chin away from the window sill. "Uh, Quinn, it seems as though you've passed my house. You're not trying to kidnap me, are you?"

Quinn eyed her warily as she turned a corner into another street. She looked bitter. "You're not going home."

Now, it was time to face the consequences.

"Quinn, I'm sorry." Rachel said loudly while a huge semi-truck blew past. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I know you love me and I know you're romantic and although today wasn't as romantic as I had hoped I loved the idea behind it, only you could think of something like that..." She trailed off having no idea of what she was meant to say, and this time, Quinn sighed.

Rachel followed Quinn inside her house and crossed over to the fridge, opened it and took out a bottle of sparkling water. She could feel the blood pumping to her chest, though perhaps this was from the glare Quinn was no doubt drilling into the back of her head (Rachel was psychic, after all). She had begun to drink, taking great gulps, when Quinn's hand was on her shoulder, then she was in front of Rachel somehow, and kissing her, clumsily pressing too hard. Rachel leaned backwards over the kitchen table, which suddenly juddered noisily across the floor, so that she had to twist away at the waist to stop the vase of roses from falling.

"Oops."

"Quinn, I'm—"

"I'm not angry, Rach. I mean, I'm a little annoyed that all my hard work went unappreciated—"

"And I'm sorry I didn't show more appreciation toward it. You know how much I enjoy—"

"Can we just make-out?"

"Will you listen—"

Rachel couldn't get another word in when Quinn's lips were on her own. As much as it frustrated her at Quinn's inept ability to let her finish a sentence, she let herself sink into the kiss. It was irritating how often Quinn would interrupt, but it's as though everything about them was in unison and they understood what the other was saying without actually having to say it. They kissed for a long while, using a little tongue. When Rachel noticed Quinn's breathing become uneven, she deepened the kiss, biting her gently on the lips.

Quinn's arms lowered and gathered Rachel in tightly until the shorter girl was on the table with Quinn between her legs. Quinn started the kiss but Rachel took over, nibbling on her lower lip as they nuzzled their noses together, lost in each other's dreamy intimacy. Quinn's hand gently massaged the skin underneath Rachel's sweater. Rachel shifted to a more comfortable position and her knee accidentally pressed against Quinn's center, eliciting a soft moan from somewhere in Quinn's throat.

Rachel knew in the back of her mind they should stop (and take this to the bedroom), but the decision to stop was harder than any decision she had ever faced. They were like two magnets drawn to each other without the slightest knowledge of how it happens. Sometimes Rachel would sit a foot or two away from Quinn in glee, only to realize by the end of the lesson, they would be tightly pressed together, shoulder to shoulder and fingers intertwined. Rachel could never figure out at which moment she had moved closer to Quinn.

At the base of Quinn's throat, her pulse beat and Rachel found her pulse with her fingertips. Then her fingers drifted lower between them, grazing downward. The side of Rachel's thumb brushed against Quinn's nibbles, the touched caused a shudder to pass through her. Quinn let out a sigh, their wildly beating hearts the only audible sound.

"Rach—I want to take this fur—"

"Me too."

Quinn actually took a step back. "This is a big step. I have no experience in—"

"I don't either."

Quinn watched the rise and fall of Rachel's chest. "Do you have any idea," Quinn leaned close to her mouth. "How hard it is for me to keep my hands off you?"

"I never want you to keep your hands off me." She pressed her thighs together to help ease the pain between her legs.

"Do you know how many fantasies I've had?"

"Pervert." Rachel said, closing her eyes as she felt Quinn's tongue on her.

Quinn straightened enough to look into her chocolate eyes. "If we do this, please don't ask me to stop." Quinn's hand slithered under Rachel's breast, her thumb moving across to the edge of the lace.

"Consider this my two month anniversary gift to you."

"How will you top that in the future?" Quinn's tongue was trickling down a spot under her ear.

"You'll be surprised, Fabray."

Rachel arched against her, and Quinn pushed her back, her breath coming faster, tilting upward to suck on Rachel's pulse point. She was pushing her palms on the table for support. The sensation of Quinn's teeth on her neck caused every nerve in her body to flare in relief. Quinn pulled back to lift Rachel's sweater over her head and just as she felt the breeze, she realized that Quinn had stripped her so that she was naked to the waist. She moved instinctively to cover herself but Quinn had seen it all.

"God, you're beautiful." Quinn said, staring at her in fascination.

"Should we continue this in your—"

"No, not yet."

Rachel tugged at Quinn's belt, torn between embarrassment and lust, she groaned at the feeling of their tongues meeting, and lust won. She felt herself tighten and shudder, and pressed further into Quinn, praying that she would never stop. Rachel's hands yanked at Quinn's shirt, and they parted so Quinn could lift it above her head and just as quickly Quinn trailed her tongue along Rachel's neck, down her breasts, she pulled Rachel's nipple into her mouth, her free hand teased the other into a peak. It felt like a newfound discovery of intense pleasure. Quinn sucked on her for a long time and she was being pulled toward a heady direction of complete surrender.

A coffee mug fell onto the floor, jumped, and rolled again and again on its side before coming to a stop, unbroken, to the left of Quinn's foot. Rachel, not daring to breathe, casted her eyes over to Quinn's mom standing in the middle of the arch that led to the kitchen. The groceries in the bags tilting forward, but not enough for all its contents to be emptied. Rachel didn't register the tub of vegan ice cream that had fallen until Quinn was in front of her, covering her half naked body.

Judy glanced over at both of them, then looked away immediately, shocked, embarrassed, but not before Rachel had caught that look somewhere between distress and confusion in the older woman's eyes. Judy made a sound, a grunt, a mumbled indecipherable bible quote. Rachel burned red. She wanted to cry. She mustn't cry. Frantically, she slid off the table and found her clothes, tugging them on impatiently. When she finished, Judy dropped the grocery bag on the floor and her footsteps could be heard walking down the hallway and then the soft click of a lock.

"Oh, god." Quinn fumbled to put on her shirt and fell to the ground, her forehead resting on her knees.

Rachel didn't dare speak. She would squeak, sound like a boy who was going through puberty, she just knew it. Quinn was stricken, her body was shaking. Her face was scarlet, as though she couldn't breathe. Fear and shame flooded through Rachel's body. She knelt down and put her arms around Quinn. Quinn clung to her, not letting her go. Rachel held onto her, waited for the shaking to subside. Soon, Quinn's sobs were intermittent but she hadn't loosened her hold on Rachel. She gently pulled away and began to wipe at Quinn's face.

Rachel didn't know how to make it better, to stop the confusion of shame and fear and sadness that overwhelmed both Quinn and herself. She wanted to take back those last few minutes. She wanted to be back in Quinn's car having lunch at the parking lot, listening to the regular laughter and chatter that was around, be comfortable in the silence she and Quinn created for themselves. She gulped and then she started to really cry. She wanted to make it better, she wanted to make Quinn feel okay again.

"Rachel, I don't know what to do."

Rachel drew a shuddering breath, her sobbing calmed. "I'll be here for you, you know that, right?"

The sound of footsteps down the hallway pulled them apart. Quinn was the first to stand, and Rachel made a note to stand two feet away from her. Judy entered from the dim hallway, her face aglow with awkwardness, lethargy and dissatisfaction. The first time Rachel met Judy, she welcomed Rachel into her home with open arms. Now, Rachel can sense the regret. Judy half smiles, half scowls.

"Rachel, would you please leave. I wish to talk to Quinn alone."

"Mom, she's—"

"Don't say it, Quinn."

"She's my girlfriend."

They all freeze. Rachel's mind is not so addled that she can't recognize the insult behind Judy's simple words, but she ignored the remark and reached out for Quinn's hand. "I'll leave."

"No." Quinn said quickly and turning back to Judy. "Mom, we can talk about this together."

Judy's nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath. Her voice remains calm. "Rachel, please leave. I have some matters I wish to discuss with Quinn."

Rachel had a sudden urge to cry again. She wants to curl up like a child and feel her fathers' arms around her, and she also wants to run as fast as she can but neither were possible without making her seem like a coward, so instead she said,

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Fabray. Even under the circumstances."

She walked slowly toward the door, retrieving her coat along the way. Quinn behind her. "I'm sorry I can't take you home. Will you be okay?"

All Rachel can do is nod. Her eyes scanning the road ahead. The winter weather numbing all her senses. She heared Quinn's voice again,

"I'll take you home. I'll tell her—"

"Quinn, it's okay."

"It's freezing—"

"It'll help me process what happened."

Quinn rubbed her hand along the back of her neck, peeking inside to determine whether Judy was able to hear them. "What if she kicks me out?"

The words were muffled and Quinn had to repeat them. Rachel bought her arm back up again to comfort her. She didn't want to say anything. She had no answers. She wasn't anticipating any questions.

Rachel's hand—hot, sweaty—covered over Quinn's. "I love you. We'll get through this together."

Rachel was suddenly afraid Quinn wasn't going to say it back. The longest duration—she timed one day—it took Quinn to respond was exactly seven-point-four seconds, and that was because she had toothpaste in her mouth. This was profound. It was a powerful thing, this fear. She was scared for Quinn's safety. She was scared for Quinn's future. On top of it all, and it was selfish, Rachel knew it the moment it crossed her mind, she was scared Quinn was going to leave her.

And then she felt Quinn's soft lips on her temple and she relaxed for the first time. "I love you. You're stuck with me, Berry."

**•••**

**May 14th, 2016**

Santana's face was pale and her eyes darted back and forth between Rachel and Quinn. The Reverend smiled reassuringly at her and she returned his smile gratefully. She fiddled with her hands in the pockets of her pants, then took it out to straighten the collar of her suit, she frowned a question at Quinn who only shrugged. It was like some form of secret cheerleading code.

They stood at the front of the church, two hundred pairs of eyes on them. Rachel's fathers were sitting with Judy in the second row, tissues in hand. The pianist started the music, everyone stood and turned toward the chapel doors. Quinn gave Santana one final reassurance nod, Santana's smile ramained rigid and unconvinced. Everyone had opted for this wedding to break into a song and dance, but Brittany mentioned to Rachel that she was not the most ordinary human being on the planet, therefore, her wedding was the one thing she needed to be ordinary.

The doors opened, Brittany started down the aisle with her father by her side. Brittany waved at the guests as she walked by. Her face was hidden behind the veil but it was clear she plastered a broad cheerleader smile. When her eyes finally settled on Santana, Rachel could tell that she had to remind herself to breathe. Santana was no different (maybe even worse). She looked as though she was going to faint.

"A wedding is a new beginning," Reverend Wise raised his eyes toward the ceiling and began. "A beginning of a new life. This could not be more true than it is for Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce."

Standing across directly from Rachel, Quinn smiled the gentlest of smiles, and her heart skipped a beat and her eyes teared when she thought about her tragic memories and not being able to remember their wedding day.

"Santana Lopez," the Reverend intoned. "Do you take this woman, Brittany Pierce, to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do you part?"

Santana turned to Brittany, her face and eyes adoring. "I do with all my heart." She declared.

"Brittany Pierce," Reverend Wise's gaze shifted. "Do you take this woman, Santana Lopez, to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do you part?"

Brittany locked her eyes onto Santana's and whispered, "I do."

"Who has the rings?" Reverend Wise asked.

Rachel sashayed forward—Quinn's eyes never leaving her sight—and lifted her hand, palm up, each held a ring. When Rachel retook her position, her eyes locked onto Quinn's once more. All the sadness and memories were lifted away. It was like a cloudy day that suddenly turned bright.

Santana slipped the diamond-encrusted wedding band on Brittany's finger. "With this ring I wed thee." She said.

Brittany did the same.

"I now pronounce you wife and wife." Reverend Wise said with a loud cheer. "You may now kiss your bride, Santana."

"Hell yes." She said and kissed Brittany with more passion than Rachel had ever seen before. Then they walked arm in arm back up the aisle. When they reached the door, the Reverend called out,

"Ladies and gentlemen, come and join me in congratulating this wonderful marriage."

Everyone was around them at once, especially the glee kids. Outside the church the band had started playing a lilting waltz. After everyone had greeted them in the receiving line, Brittany was standing on the running board of the Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost that would take them the hundred yards to the reception, the bouquet held low in both hands, ready to be tossed.

"Want to try your chances, Rach?" Quinn's voice was beside her ear.

"I'm a married woman." She said, placing her hands behind her back just as the bouquet was lobbed into the crowd and caught by Kurt Hummel who squealed in delight, which seemed to anger some of the younger women as if one of their chances for future happiness had been squandered. Rachel nodded towards Kurt and Blaine who were locked in a tight embrace, the bouquet high above his head when they kissed. "We have a lot of gay friends."

Quinn chuckled softly. Rachel's pointed shoes tapped against the toes of Quinn's and it gave her a little rush of happiness. Over her shoulder she could see Brittany looking around for her. "I better go. Santana has me on strict orders to take care of the dress."

"Hopefully we'll be able to sneak away from them." Quinn held up her crossed fingers, and Rachel crossed hers back.

How wonderful a wedding of two people who were sincerely in love with each other could be, Rachel thought. It was sacred and precious. The time between the rehearsal dinner and the wedding day seemed like ages. Minutes were more like hours and hours more like days, because the anticipation built up Brittany's excitement and it was contagious. Brittany stayed in Lima planning the wedding with Rachel while Santana flew back and forth between Lima and L.A. so as to spend some time with Quinn.

Rachel had spent most of the morning between trying to calm Brittany's nerves to running around and checking items off her list: food, alcohol, songs, band, guests. At times she would look towards the gates and whenever she saw a blonde she'd feel a flush of excitement run through her, like a jolt of electric current surging from her feet to the tips of her hair. Her mind racing with a hundred questions: where was she? She should be here by now. I hope she's okay. I wonder what she's wearing.

She didn't see Quinn until the ceremony begun; her head cleared instantly and a warm rush swept through her body.

The sky was a deep cerulean blue and the little candy cotton puff clouds stretched and curled in delicious shapes. Rachel took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet fresh perfume of blossoming flowers and watched the guests follow the Silver Ghost in procession to the Great Lawn for champagne and canapés. There, with a great whoop, Kurt finally found Rachel, and he hugged her with a tight grip.

"I'm getting married." Kurt said delighted.

"Getting married first requires a proposal." Mercedes pulled Rachel into a hug and they laughed.

"Blaine will propose. I caught the bouquet, didn't I?"

"How accurate can that possibly be?" Rachel asked.

A waiter walked by carrying a tray of champagne glasses and Rachel quickly grabbed one. Kurt did the same and they clinked it together. "I'll let you know once it undoubtedly happens." He smiled into the glass.

The champagne flowed on and a sense of nostalgia spread across the Great Lawn as old friends met and conversation turned into how much people earned now, how much weight they gained. Rachel heard someone yell from the other side of the Great Lawn and glanced across to see Puck hugging Quinn and Santana tightly. Rachel smiled and turned her full attention back to Brittany.

"I can't believe this has happened." Brittany said. "I'm married, Rachel."

She took a sip of her champagne. Her head becoming light. "You two are meant for each other."

There was a moment's silence, comfortable and affectionate, as they looked around the lawn at old friends talking and laughing in the later afternoon sun.

"Thanks for taking care of me today, Rachel. You're the best maid of honor."

Rachel took her eyes away from her group of high school friends singing to _Don't Stop Believing_. "Of course, Brittany. Thank you for making me your maid of honor."

Brittany placed her hand on top of Rachel's. "I know these past few months have been difficult for you, and I know you don't remember how we became so close or friends, but I love you and you're one of my favorite people."

Rachel felt her hand tighten around the champagne glass. She was blinking back tears but one managed to escape and Brittany reached out to wipe it away. "Don't cry, Rach. You have a lot of people who care about you."

Rachel didn't have a chance to reply when her fathers came over to congratulate Brittany personally and they smiled down at her. "You okay, Rachel?" Hiram asked.

"Yes, I'm okay." Her eyes drifted over to Quinn, a wary expression on her face while they stared at one another. Quinn was the first to look away the moment Tina shook her on the shoulder.

"You look lovely, Brittany. The ceremony was beautiful." Leroy said.

"Thank you, Mr. B. Rachel did most of the work. All Santana and I had to do was show up."

"Rachel," Judy wrapped her arms around the smaller girl. "It's so good to see you again. How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, thank you." Rachel was slightly alarmed at the gesture but didn't step away from Judy's embrace. "Are you enjoying the wedding?"

"It's lovely. You've done a wonderful job."

As the sun began to set, the guests were gathering at the marquee, huddling eagerly around the seating plan as if getting their exam results. Puck and Sam were sitting behind the long table, asking for their names and showing them the seating arrangements. Rachel was surprised to find Quinn amongst the crowd.

"What are the chances that you and I are sitting on the same table but won't be able to talk?" Quinn said.

"At least you're not near the speakers, they'll be right behind me."

"You mustn't take it personally."

"Santana did it on purpose."

"She does it out of love." Quinn winked.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Come and find me afterwards?"

"Or you come and find me."

As punishment for some past slight, Rachel was placed between Brittany's elderly, hearing-impaired grandmother and the speakers. The bride and bride seating arrangement was the only one Santana organized and now Rachel understood why. They had a front view of the large stage, their table long, decorated with lillies and roses. Occasionally, she would be distracted by the laughter on the end of the table (where Quinn was located) and on table five, Kurt, Blaine, Mercedes, Sam, Tina, Mike and Artie and his girlfriend. Her heart dropped at not seeing Finn and for the first time in what seemed like a while, she wondered when the falling out had begun.

Song followed sketch followed song until Rachel found her mind beginning to drift. She was extremely happy for her friends, and extremely happy to be in the company of her friends, but with each glass of champagne, the energy was leeching out of her, not to mention her ears were beginning to ring. As if to make it worse, the band were turning it up louder, the bassist playing the riff from_ Another One Bites the Dust_, and Rachel wondered whether anyone would notice if she put her head down and slept on the table.

But the glasses were being tapped with knives. The speeches. Santana's father was extremely proud of his daughter, bringing a few guests to tears with his speech. Brittany's father lightened the mood and laughter erupted from the room. It was as though two different world's had collided.

Quinn was next to deliver her speech and she stumbled to the stage. Rachel giggled at the way she fumbled with the microphone and tugged at the hem of her dress that had ridden up to halfway along her thigh, and there followed a fleeting but vivid memory of Quinn sitting in the car on a winter's day eating bacon from a take-out container. Quinn's features weren't dissimilar, she had grown into a beautiful, young woman, the same lines formed around her mouth when she laughed, they were etched just deeper now. She still had the same eyes, and when she laughed her whole body shook just as it had when she was seventeen. In many ways, Quinn was far more attractive than her seventeen year-old self.

Santana embraced Quinn just as Quinn was walking back to her seat, and Santana took center stage. "I want to thank everyone for coming today. I've been ordered to remain polite and courteous." She glanced behind and smiled at Brittany, speaking right through to her heart. "You are the most dangerous kind of female the world can ever know. You're beautiful, you're funny, you're seductive, you're intelligent and I'm so proud that you have chosen me to be yours."

Brittany blew Santana what seemed like a hundred air kisses.

"I love you. I think I loved you the moment I saw your face in that locker room and you smiled shyly back at me. You're wildly hopeful and willing to challenge any obstacles in our love. I'll never be able to stop loving you."

Suddenly, an applause broke out, everyone beamed their happy smiles at the newly-weds. Santana turned as red as a tomato and Brittany took the microphone out of her hand to say, "I love Santana with all my heart. She's my lobster. And, we would like to thank Rachel for being the best maid of honor and organizing this amazing wedding. Rachel," Brittany said a little nervously, handing her the microphone. "We would like you to perform _Songbird_ while Santana and I have our first dance."

Rachel stared at it, her eyes blank and absent. Her stomach was clenched into a knot and her hands trembled. There was a distinct applause on table five, her friends cheering for her to take the stage.

Strangely enough, Santana gently put her hand on Rachel's shoulder. "You can do this, Rachel. There's no one else we want to sing this song."

"I—can't. I haven't sung in front of an audience in months."

"You have to start somewhere." Santana smiled.

"Come on, Rachel." She heard somewhere from table five. "Sing your little Jewish butt off for us."

Rachel didn't say anything. Instead she stood, wiped her face and walked to the stage where she struggled to put the microphone on the stand. Quinn's hand were over hers now, her other one rubbing along Rachel's back, willing her to stop shaking. Quinn's lips lingered beside her ear and her insides melted like a candle.

"You can do this, Rach."

The pianist strummed harmoniously on the ivory chords, Santana wrapped an arm around Brittany's waist, their bodies swaying in unison to the harmony. At the first wave of the melody Rachel's body released unto itself, it made her shiver, thinking she might be sick but then she concentrated on Santana and Brittany's blissful smiles, the music around her seemingly to be coming from somewhere far away, the cold and the fear deserting her and she submitted to the warm and lush it created inside her body. Kurt was standing and holding his two thumbs to give her encouragement and suddenly she found herself standing in the middle of the choir room. Her eyes fell on Quinn sitting on one of the bleachers playing with the hem of her blouse, refusing to meet Rachel's eyes. The fluorescent light above backlit her hair and she looked like an angel again. She was exquisitely beautiful. It took Rachel's breath away.

When she opened her mouth to finally sing the words to _Songbird_, it wasn't the lyrics she had anticipated. _I've been beating down, I've been kicked around, she takes me all for me._

The pianist stopped. Santana and Brittany's movements halted. The crowd was silent, but there was no anger, no hate. She realized her mistake and her limbs weren't capable of moving, she just wanted to sink into unconsciousness. Sink back to that memory standing in front of the club and serenade to Quinn. It lasted only a moment but it tasted of all the longing and fear and desire she was feeling.

"I'm sorry." Rachel turned to the pianist. "Can we start again?"

He nodded and resumed from the beginning. The crowd cheered again, particularly table five. Rachel's voice and the music exploding throughout the hall.

_For you, there'll be no more crying  
>For you, the sun will be shining<br>And I feel that when I'm with you_

Hearing her own voice, distinct, clear, rising about the melodies, above the crowd, above the music, she began to feel weightless, beyond gravity, beyond her body. It is her soul singing. She hadn't felt this free for so long. A kind of sweet surrender. And she told herself as she drew out the last few notes that she will never stop singing again.

_And I love you, I love you, I love you  
>Like never before, like never before<em>

Whistles and cheers and screams erupted, she had the breath knocked out of her once again when a hundred pairs of arms wrapped around her tiny body. Rachel scanned her eyes around for Quinn but she was nowhere to be found. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Santana say,

"Let's have some cake!"

The cake was placed at the center of the stage. It was a five-tiered white confection bedecked with garlands and flowers. It was almost as tall as Rachel (Santana would argue that she was just short). Beaming, Brittany took Santana's hand and, holding the knife together, they cut a slice from the bottom of the tier of the cake. Brittany opened her mouth to allow Santana to pop a piece of the cake into her mouth but instead, Santana bumped it on Brittany's nose and they both laughed.

After everyone had been served cake and ice cream, Rachel was beginning to feel the exhaustion of the celebration (perhaps it was the large amount of champagne she had drunk). With a last sip of her champagne, she began to contemplate that it was time to call it a night and retreat back to her room to sleep off the wedding.

"Excuse me, but don't I know you from somewhere?"

A hand on her arm, a voice behind her. Quinn was crouching by her side, grinning woozily, a bottle of champagne in her hand.

"It's possible, I suppose. I am quite famous." Rachel held up her champagne glass.

There was a squeal from the guests, the band began to play and all the attention turned to the dance floor, where their high school friends were dancing to their special song, _Push It_, twisting and jumping out of rhythm.

Quinn was the first to comment on their outrageous behaviour. "When did our friends turn into such hippies?"

"Since the introduction of alcohol."

"Speak for yourself." Quinn said, perching on a chair.

"I am not drunk."

"You look drunk."

"How can one look drunk?"

"Like this." Quinn pushed her lightly and Rachel slumped like spaghetti to the side. "You're drunk."

"That was not very nice, Quinn."

They were having to shout now. Quinn stood and tugged at her hand. "Let's go somewhere. Just you and me."

"Where?"

"The maze."

A moment, and Rachel stood. "We couldn't find our way out when we were sober, how do you think we'll do being intoxicated?"

"I guess we'll soon find out."

They took two glasses and discreetly stepped out of the marquee and into the night. Rachel felt kind of eucalyptic walking under the stars, and a little euphoric in her exhaustion. She was shocked by the number of stars in the night sky. When they arrived at the entrance to the maze, a neatly trimmed privet hedge affair, they took off their heels and Rachel paused, her hand on the iron handle.

"Is this a good idea?"

"How hard can it be?"

"We're drunk, Quinn."

"We'll use the stars or something."

"And you're so good with constellations."

"Wouldn't you be surprised, Berry."

They stepped into the maze. The high hedges were lit at ground level with different colored lights, and the air had that spring smell, thick and heady, almost oily from the warm leaves. They went left and Rachel grabbed a hold of Quinn's arm. The tingling sensations of their skins touching was either due to the alcohol or because that was just Quinn herself. Rachel wanted to believe it was the latter.

"Today was beautiful, wasn't it?" Rachel said dreamily.

"Yeah. It was perfect."

"Hey, so how is your movie going?"

Rachel felt Quinn sliding her palm up and down the length of her forearm. Her legs began to twitch. The space between Quinn and herself seemed constricted. "I wrap up in a week or two."

"What are you going to do after that?"

"I did want to go back to college to study English."

"That's wonderful, Quinn." Rachel beamed. Warmth spread through her stomach when Quinn's arm was around her shoulder. "We should celebrate. But first, let's turn right."

"Why?"

"Because we've been going left all this time."

"Maybe that's the trick. It's a mind game. They want you to think that you have to choose between right and left when really, it's left all along."

"That's a ridiculous theory."

"Is it, Rachel, is it?" Quinn turned her head just as Rachel turned hers and Rachel's forehead bumped Quinn's chin. "Ouch."

"That did not hurt."

"Yes, it did." Quinn rubbed it lightly with a pout. "You have to kiss it better now."

This was the moment she realized how drunk they were.

Rachel leaned up to kiss her chin, but Quinn bent further and Rachel was met with Quinn's sweet lips. They stood there, mouth to mouth, glitter flaring in her head, except this time Rachel wasn't fighting it and it went everywhere. Rachel clutched Quinn's waist, drunk on the knowledge of how wonderful this was.

"Why do you taste like strawberries?" Quinn asked.

Rachel had to catch her breath before she could speak. "The cake."

"Oh," Quinn's face fell. "Santana didn't give me any."

Rachel pulled Quinn along and they made a right turn at the junction. "It was like an orgasm."

"Do you remember what an orgasm is like, Rachel?"

They stopped but Rachel didn't release her arm around Quinn's waist. They stared at each other when Rachel said, "No, but I suspect it's amazing. Considering we had a lot of sex."

Their pace resumed. "How do you know that? For all you know we could've had sex once a month."

"I guess... I guess you'd have to tell me then, won't you?"

"Pervert."

It was quiet for a moment until Quinn spoke again. "Why did you start singing _She Is Love _when you were on stage?"

Rachel wondered whether it was the alcohol working their magic inside of her or the fact Quinn's face was buried into her hair that had bats flapping in her stomach. "I—I remembered I sang that song to you in glee."

"Are you getting your memories back?"

"I don't know." She answered honestly. "I haven't the slightest clue what triggers them. When I saw you tugging your dress on stage, there was a moment's flash of you eating bacon from a container in a car. Then when I was on stage I remember serenading to you. All I'm certain of is that these memory triggers involve you in some way or another."

"Do you want them back?" There was a strain in Quinn's voice.

"A part of me does. Another doesn't. I want to remember what it was like to be in love with you, but it's also troubling to know why we had a falling out with Finn."

"Oh." Quinn's arms tightened around Rachel's shoulder. "Have you been in contact with him?"

"Not exactly. He knows I'm in Lima and he knows about the wedding. I haven't had the time to spend with him." They stopped again, unsure of which direction to turn. "I think we're lost." Rachel said.

"I think so, too."

"Let's sit down."

Rachel went to rest her back against the hedge, but Quinn sprawled herself onto the grass, her face grinning up at Rachel. "Come here."

They regarded each other for a moment. Quinn shifted her gaze to the champagne bottle and Rachel mimicked Quinn's position. She jumped a little when Quinn slid her arm under her shoulders. There was a self-conscious moment of mutual discomfort before Rachel turned into her side and curled towards Quinn.

Tightening an arm around Rachel's waist, Quinn spoke into the top of her head. "I'm sorry for everything I've done—or haven't done. I'm sorry for walking out on you. I'm sorry my dad called and reminded you about the divorce. I know that it's too late for me to fix it—to fix anything. I'm just sorry, Rachel."

She pressed her head to Quinn's shoulder to make the other girl stop or else she felt she might cry. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning had cut the sky, Rachel sat up. "I want to propose something, Quinn." She stretched her torso and arms to reach the champagne and glasses. She poured half a glass each, handing one to Quinn. Taking her time to ponder her words, she spoke a few minutes later. "I want you to promise me to never blame yourself again."

Rachel clinked their glasses but Quinn was not convinced. "I can't do that."

"I didn't make it easy for you to stay with me."

"That's not the point, I should've stayed. We're married. I had no right to leave you like that. It contradicts everything I said in my vows."

"Quinn," Rachel brushed the tears away from her cheeks. "If you hadn't left, we wouldn't have been able to communicate the way that we have. Our relationship was strained. We couldn't be honest with each other, we couldn't talk to each other the way we do now. It was like the big bang theory—"

Quinn snorted. Rachel ignored it.

"—First there was nothing. Then the anger started, and if we stayed together it would've expanded outwards in all directions, and then it would be _everything_. We would have continued to fight."

"Again," Quinn sipped on her glass. "This is you predicting the future?"

Rachel pushed her shoulder lightly. "My point is, we wouldn't have been able to come to this wedding, we would've put our friends in a very difficult position. Our time apart has allowed us to grow and learn to live without one other."

Rachel didn't miss the way Quinn frowned and her eyes flashed with sadness at her last sentence. "I don't blame you. I don't want you to blame yourself. So, please, let us raise our glasses and toast to this new found friendship."

Quinn blinked once, very slowly. She raised her glass and clinked it with Rachel's. "I have a proposal, too."

"Okay." Rachel finished off the alcohol and placed her glass down. "Let's hear it, Fabray."

Quinn starting to speak with zeal now. "I want you to make it in Broadway. And not just small roles and off-Broadway shows. You have the talent to go so far, Rachel. Your health is stable, your voice was amazing tonight. You have a million fans that will support you no matter what. Promise me you won't give up."

Rachel made no response to this except to squeeze Quinn's arm and Quinn repeated, "Rach, you can't give up on it."

"I promise." She said, gradually. "I won't give up. When I was on stage tonight it reminded me of how thrilling it was to sing to an audience. I want that part of my life back."

Quinn poured more champagne into both their glasses. "Cheers to the future."

The next half hour is a blur. Rachel remembers uncontrollable laughter, delighted laughing, Quinn's arms bringing Rachel tightly to her, Rachel's head on Quinn's shoulder, their eyes never leaving each other, the feeling of Quinn's body pressed against her own, never wanting this moment to stop, not caring whether they find their way out of the maze or not, the feel of the grass beneath her palms, her heels digging into the ground, an apology that feels like forgiveness and acceptance; then they collapsed once again onto the ground.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Rachel was staring at the stars. Her arms outstretched as if to gather them in (yeap, she was highly intoxicated). She heard Quinn say, Yeah, and when Rachel turned, Quinn's eyes are twinkling at her. A slight smile on her lips. Rachel wondered for a moment, only a moment because she did not want to come across as conceited, whether Quinn was referring to her or the stars.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks for all your comments. Happy reading!**

* * *

><p><em>They don't know about the things we do<br>__They don't know about the I love you's  
><em>_But I bet you if they knew  
><em>_They will just be jealous of us  
><em>_They don't know about the up all nights  
><em>_They don't know I've waited all my life  
><em>_Just to find a love that feels this right_

—One Direction: They Don't Know About Us

**•••**

**January 7th, 2012**

Rachel was a shocking driver, simultaneously sloppy and petrified (according to Quinn. Santana wouldn't dare get in the car with her), and for the first ten miles had been absent-mindedly driving with her father's spectacles instead of her sun-glasses. From her view, the traffic loomed menacingly out of nowhere like alien space cruisers (she had been so distracted she hadn't realized until eleven miles later). She drove urgently, _One Direction's, They Don't Know About Us_ blaring through the speakers. She couldn't drive in silence, not today; the silence would only spoil her thoughts, her pure thoughts of happiness and contentment (so she told herself). For a long while, Quinn sung this song to her as a teasing reminder of the reason why their relationship had to be kept a secret (which wasn't exactly true, because the glee kids knew and from what Rachel gathered, no one seemed jealous).

She had to make frequent rest stops to stabilize her blood pressure and dab the perspiration from her top lip. The lipstick she wore was redder and more sultry than she had intended, and the small amount of powder she had applied to her cheeks now looked garish and absurd. Why, she wondered, do I always look like a child trying on her mother's make-up? She had also made the elementary mistake of getting her hair styled by Kurt in the morning, and it was still falling into an artful arrangement of heavy curls and flicks (a style Santana had called the Stepford Wife extravagance).

In the morning she rung Kurt's doorbell at 8:00 a.m. He opened the door in his pink silk pajamas and berated her for eight minutes. Something concerning _normal people_ sleeping in until noon during Winter break and that it was an horrendous hour to be driving around Lima in the snow and that Rachel should leave him alone so he could get some sleep and then he stopped in the middle of a sentence she hadn't quite been paying much attention to and his eyes bulked out of their sockets and he said to her,

"Why aren't you with Quinn? Do you want to talk about it over ice cream?"

Her reply was, "Kurt, it's eight in the morning."

"It's never too early for ice cream."

The moment she told him she wished to receive a new hair style for this afternoon's lunch with Quinn and her mom, he instantly perked up and just like that (poof) he was wide awake, excited, energized, running around his house hysterically retrieving various hair supplies. She had hoped to discuss with him the correct manner of conducting herself to Quinn's mom, but she should have known better than to bring up _styling_ before _parenting_.

Next, she went to visit Santana at 11:07 a.m. (her driving put her behind schedule by seven minutes). Santana berated her as well. Usually she would be fearful of Santana's outbursts and instantly scamper to Quinn for protection; today she was unaffected. She couldn't quite understand what Santana was saying most of the time so she focused on Santana's facial expressions until she had stopped shouting: fury, sleepiness, danger, annoyance. After seventeen minutes, Santana finally noticed she wasn't terrified and said,

"Do you want ice cream or something?"

"Why?"

"You look like you want ice cream."

"But I don't want ice cream."

"Then just say no."

"Oh okay. No, thank you."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Why are you here so early? You do know its Winter break, right? And why do you look like a Stepford wife?"

Rachel unconsciously ran her hands through her hair. "I'm having lunch with Quinn and her mom—"

"And you wanted to look old enough so that Judy won't call Quinn a pedophile."

"Santana!"

Santana chuckled, a strange abrupt sound that seemed to come from her throat. It could have been meant as a taunt or an insult. Rachel could never tell with Santana, she was always snappy and curt. She leaned against the door. "You want parenting advice? I ain't got any."

"What about Brittany's parents? You must have met them."

"I don't have parenting advice about how to _win_ over parents. I don't need it, parents look at me and they love me."

Rachel was getting agitated, her lips pressed together. She had been standing on Santana's doorstep for twenty-three minutes with nothing close to an invite. Her body hurt, there was a numbness. She couldn't decipher whether the pain was from the cold or fear. Her body seemed to be separating into two; like a cartoon, where those bumbling coyotes or cats that had been wrung through a mangle.

"Listen, Berry," Santana looked dazed, a little perplexed. "Even if I did have advice for you, Brittany's parents are different to Quinn's. They have different views, they're easy going, bubbly. If it makes you feel any better, Quinn's mom's easier to please than her dad. She'll like you. Just be your annoying, irritating self."

At 12:01 p.m. Quinn called her (Rachel was very punctual) to ask where she was and when Rachel answered that she was in the car, Quinn yelled at her for being irresponsible and talking while driving, on top of her horrible driving she could've died and then grumbled I love you and hung up. She didn't have time to process why everyone felt the need to yell at her on this particular day, because the moment the thought crossed her mind she came to a jeering halt in front of Quinn's house (the tires screeched loudly).

She stepped out of the car and gazed up at the shimmering house, lightly covered in snow, the sun giving it a holy glow, and suddenly chance, accident, fate, will, they all made sense to her. And they made her scared. This was a milestone in their relationship, the prospect was both exciting and intimidating. Quinn's mom would like her, or not. Quinn will defy her mom's wishes and be with her, or not. That was the only one strand to the future, the one path out of all those myriad possibilities that she cared about.

The front door swung open and there stood Quinn, eyes alive and shining, she was clenching her right fist. All Rachel could think about was how to seduce her. "Rachel, are you going to come inside?"

Rachel shook her head furiously, abandoning all thoughts and concentrating solely on today. When she reached Quinn at the door, Quinn leaned in to kiss her but Rachel took a step back. Not because she didn't want to accept the kiss; the fact that Quinn's mother was in the house was rather daunting.

Quinn was a little (very) disappointed. "Rachel, I want a kiss."

"Your mom—"

"Is not here."

"Oh," Rachel's face brightened, only slightly. "I thought we were having lunch toget—"

"I meant she's not out here. She's in the kitchen. We're a hundred feet away and—"

"That's an absurd exaggeration—"

"—obstructed by two walls. Now, kiss me."

She kissed (pecked) Quinn on the lips. Rachel was very aware of the danger in Quinn's eyes and kissed (a real one this time) her again, soft and tender, and Quinn kissed her back with anticipation. She wrapped her arms around Quinn's neck, so grateful to be back in her warmth. They hadn't seen each other in four days (since the incident that Rachel has yet to accept happened). By way of discipline, Judy grounded Quinn for the remainder of the break and Rachel wasn't allowed over the house. Judy eventually relented and accepted Rachel's lunch invitation.

"What did you do to your hair?" Quinn asked.

"Oh, Kurt, he went a little overboard with—"

She put up her hand. "No need to explain."

"Do you like it?"

Quinn kissed the top of her head, then spoke into her hair. "I do. You look like a Stepford wife."

Rachel sighed irritably. Quinn noticed and asked, "What?"

"Santana said the same thing."

"You went to see Santana? You know she doesn't wake up until two. I'm surprised you're still alive."

The sound of the smoke alarm indicated that Judy was cooking, and with that they followed the burning butter down the hall into the kitchen. Rachel had lost count of how many times she's fantasized about this meeting. She knew approximately three months and fourteen days since pursuing their relationship, she would meet Judy at some point. Granted, her first encounter with Judy was pleasant. There were gentle smiles, she was polite and well-mannered, she helped Judy with the dishes, they engaged in light conversations before Judy excused herself and visited some friends. Quinn had teased her mercilessly regarding her behavior which led to an argument, and an hour of no physical activity as Quinn's punishment. Despite that, it had been a lovely evening with Judy Fabray and since then she has fantasized about their second meeting (the one in which they came out of the metaphorical closet). It would be wonderful. Judy would be enamored by Rachel's exhilaration and energy, she would be interested in Rachel's extracurricular activities, and she would say to Rachel, I give you permission to marry my daughter.

None of which happened while they sat in a triangle around the square table. There was no light, carefree conversations, Judy fidgeted a lot and every time Rachel tried to engage in a conversation with her she answered but never pressed on. Judy simply sat there, eating as little as possible, there was the same shock and puzzlement, however, Rachel also noticed a weary, resigned acceptance. It was moments like this that she had to remind herself that she was in love with Quinn, and she wants a future with Quinn. They have all this abundant love, this intense thing, and how very irresponsible it would be to throw it all away. In this bliss, in this love, in this confidence, Rachel couldn't doubt it was true.

When Quinn took the plates to the kitchen, Rachel was left alone with Judy and caught a brief tremble on the older woman's lips, a quick flicker of her eyes, a moment of uncertainty. Then, she broke the silence, "Quinn and I will be traveling to Cleveland next week to visit her sister. Has Quinn told you about Frannie? It's her birthday next week, there'll be a party." Judy took a sip of her wine.

"Yes, she's mentioned Frannie a few times." Rachel mimicked Judy and sipped from her glass of water, still trying to figure out whether she had been invited or just informed that a party was taking place.

"We'll be gone the whole weekend."

Still not sure. Was Judy inviting her, or absorbing in the pleasure of taking Quinn away from her for a weekend. "Quinn has mentioned that, yes."

"You're very welcome to come along." Judy finally said, reaching over for a napkin.

"Am I?"

"Absolutely," she said. Rachel watched Judy pour herself another glass of wine. "It's just, you won't know anyone there, that's all."

Clearly she was not invited. "I'll know Quinn." She said weakly.

"Yes, I suppose so."

Rachel let it pass and excused herself to the bathroom. She examined herself in the mirror. She had been hoping for understanding, but every time she tried to reach out, Judy dismissed her relationship with Quinn and changed the topic. Rachel had not been prepared to meet Judy, not under these circumstances, especially after the incident that she hasn't entirely processed. She made a mental note to research information entitled _meeting the parent(s)_ and compile a PowerPoint presentation.

There was muffled shouting when she opened the door. Making her way toward the kitchen, she heard Quinn's voice, sharp and hard.

"You're not even giving her a chance. If you get to know her you'll know how wonderful and kind she is and she has—"

"I don't want to discuss this, Quinn."

"I'm in love with her."

"Yes, you've said that already."

Rachel had her back against the wall, she would not cry, she told herself. She wanted to turn the corner and tell Quinn that is was okay but she couldn't will her muscles to move.

"You're seventeen, Quinn, you don't know what love is." Judy glared at her.

"This isn't a phase." She replied indignantly, eyes snapping at her mother. "Mom, I'm going to marry Rachel."

That hurt in Rachel's chest, that was a bullet tearing her apart in slow motion; that hurt, that pain that she hoped would never go away, it was love. It was so strong it was like the force of the universe.

Judy spoke levelly. "You're going to go to college, meet new people. High school romances aren't something that lasts—"

"I'm asking for your understanding, mom, not your approval. We've been doing so well for the past few months, I want to be able to talk to you about everything. I'm still the same girl. Nothing about me has changed."

"When did you turn gay, Quinn?"

They were silent now. Rachel peeked around the corner to witness Quinn wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, and she suddenly felt a hot pang of shame.

Finally, she spoke in a quiet voice, "People don't _turn_ gay."

"You were with Finn, and that Noah Pookermen—"

"Puckerman."

Quinn really had a bad habit of interrupting others, Rachel thought.

"—boy. You dated Sam. There has never been any indication that you're gay. Is this because of Santana?"

"No," she sniffed once, and looked up at Judy through smudged eyes. "I don't—know. Maybe it's always been there, probably always has. I just know that I love her."

Rachel held her breath, staring at the blank wall ahead. Quinn and Judy were arguing again, she counted to sixty-seconds. Tears stung in her eyes and she blinked them back. When she hit sixty, she walked out from the corner and Quinn was puzzled, then alarmed.

Quinn quickly came over to her, her arm around Rachel's shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"

Rachel smiled up at her, her face fearful, eyes full of love. She regarded Judy, "Mrs. Fabray, I would like to apologize for putting you in a difficult position due to the sudden change in Quinn's life, and having to come out to you the way that we did. I wish there could've been a better way for us to tell you. I know that Quinn cares about you very much and if it were possible we would've done things a lot differently. I'm very thankful that you have allowed me into your home again." She squeezed Quinn's hand. "I love Quinn, very much. I'm in love with her, and I hope that you will support us. We in no way intended to hurt you."

All three remained standing quietly, wondering what would happen next. Judy was the first to break eye contact, her eyes reddening, a tear drifted down her cheek. Quinn made a move to hug her but Judy waved her away, a tight smile playing on her lips. "I don't know how to take all this in. This is too much for one day."

Judy continued to regard them for a long while (particularly Quinn), wondering into some far off distance. Finally, she kissed Quinn on the cheek and patted Rachel awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'll be in my room if either of you girls need me. Leave your door open, Quinn."

Rachel could tell Quinn had a million other questions. "Mom?"

"I'm processing this. It's going to take some time."

That was all they hoped for.

Quinn turned to her once Judy was out of sight. "Do you want some ice cream?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that today?"

"You seem like you want some ice cream." She shrugged.

She followed Quinn to the kitchen bench and they stared at one another. Her face now full of excitement; her hazel eyes brightened like the morning sky on a clear summer's day, she was smiling from ear to ear. "What?" She asked with a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. "Would you like me to feed you?"

"You're cheery."

"Well, it was what we wanted, right?"

They smiled at each other. Then, as if the idea had suddenly occurred to her, Rachel quickly crossed the room in three long strides, took Quinn's face between her hands and kissed her. When they broke apart, Rachel looked at her intently. "Did you mean what you said?"

"About...?"

"Marrying me."

"Yes."

Rachel's stomach felt wobbly. Dozens of butterflies had suddenly burst their cocoons and beat their wings within her. And then she frowned, shook her head, pressing her face into Quinn's shoulder, making a noise that sounded like rage.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just..." She looked up at Quinn again. "I won't ever be able to get rid of you, will I?"

"I don't think you can."

It began to slowly dawn on her that the future was not a slowly straight linear path but a matrix of permutations and possibilities. She had always been fixated on glee and school, myspace videos, dance and vocal lessons, it made her blind to the truth. The future she had envisioned with Finn was nothing compared to what she now saw with Quinn. The world she had knew was splintering and everything began to make more sense. Finn was two-dimensional, it was flat: college, graduate, Broadway, awards, family. Quinn has become her top priority, she would give up her career for Quinn, and that filled her with ferocious excitement.

They had found the secret glue that held all things together.

**•••**

**January 13th, 2012**

It wasn't very often that Rachel Berry found herself suffering from boredom. So it was a surprise that just as she had answered a question on her biology homework she began etching doodles on the margins of the page; it was a doodle of Quinn's name with love hearts around it. She turned the page and tried to concentrate on the series of diagrams, charts and data detailing the frequency of respiratory illness in four generations of human twins. She had to evaluate both the genetic and environment factors of the inheritance of the disease (reading the question made her want to collapse on her bed).

Quinn was away with her mother in Cleveland. They agreed that it would be best for Rachel to not attend, it was a family gathering, after all. She and Quinn needed to put some distance between them for the sake of her mother. They were now one-hundred and twenty-eight miles apart. That thought alone almost gave her a heart attack the previous night and Quinn comforted her during her distress. She then went to bed early in the hope of being fresh-faced and quick-witted in the morning, but instead she was exhausted and nauseous with anxiety. Not one of her friends wanted to see her today, making excuse after excuse, Santana being the only outspoken one of them all: No, Berry, I will not have the pleasure of accompanying you to the movies and then cry about Quinn's absence from your life. She's coming back tomorrow. She's not _dying_.

Her eyes drifted upward to the list of rules pinned to the bulletin board. Judy was still coming to terms with Quinn's recent coming out of the metaphorical closet and their relationship, so it had been decided by all parties (mainly Judy) that it was best to set a list of ground rules. Not that Rachel nor Quinn was going to let anything as terrifying as getting caught by a parent in an uncompromising position happen ever again; that window was now closed, to never be spoken of. Nevertheless, Judy summoned Rachel and Quinn three days prior for an important meeting and compiled The Rules.

Number One: No displays of affection in the Fabray house. Whatever happens, there were to be no cuddles or hugs, no pecks or kisses; Quinn was to leave her bedroom door open at all times. "I don't see the point of cuddling anyway," Quinn had said. "Cuddling gives me a cramp." Not true. Quinn did not know the meaning of _personal space_. If anything, Rachel was the one with multiple cramps.

Judy nodded skeptically and added, "No flirting either. Rule Two."

"Well, I don't flirt, so..." Quinn said, and she proceeded to rub her foot against the side of Rachel's shin under the table.

"Seriously, Quinn, I see the way you smile at Rachel, winking at her, or those many times I've caught you staring at her legs. No funny business."

Quinn blushed heavily. "Am I not allowed to do anything regarding Rachel?"

"When I'm not home," Judy quickly recovered. "No, what I mean is, not in this house. I don't want to sit on the couch having to think, I wonder if Quinn and Rachel did anything on here. That reminds me, Rule Number Three. When we're all out together in public for a lovely dinner, you two are to be well behaved. I don't want to be a sitting duck while I watch the two of you in a lip lock."

"Mom, you think we're hormonal teenagers. None of this is going to happen."

"No, it isn't. Because it's a Rule."

Rule Number Four, at Quinn's insistence, was the no shorts or skirts clause. Rachel was no longer allowed to wear shorts and skirts to Quinn's house, physical modesty and discretion at all times. In retaliation, Rachel proposed Rule Number Five. Quinn was not allowed to antagonize her. More than often she has found herself wanting to push Quinn against any surface during their heated arguments. She has realized that it was a game Quinn invented for herself designed to expressly rile and infuriate Rachel to the point where she would pout and stomp her foot for Quinn's own amusement.

The next day, with The Rules in place, they lay in the Fabray living room, eating oranges, quietly reading, entirely happy in each other's silence.

Quinn cracked first, sighing and placing her book on her chest: Nabokov's _Lolita_, a gift from Rachel. A moment passed. She sighed again for effect.

"What's wrong?" Rachel said, without looking up from her book: _The Fault in our Stars_. She was highlighting memorable quotes from the book.

"I can't get into it."

"It's a masterpiece."

"Makes my head hurt."

"Would you rather I have gotten you something with pictures?"

"Ha, you're funny."

"_Very Hungry Caterpillar_ or something—"

"I'm just finding it a bit dense. It's about a man basically talking about how sexually aroused he is all the time," she shuffled closer to Rachel until her face was inches from the other girl's. "Let's make-out."

Rachel's highlighter froze mid-air. "Quinn, your mom's here!"

"She's in her room," her hand was underneath the soft flesh of Rachel's sweater. "We'll hear if she comes out." She leaned in and kissed Rachel without permission. Rachel snaked her leg around Quinn, pulling her closer. One minute later, they heard footsteps down the hallway and Quinn swung back to her previous position. "Hi, Mom." She said not looking up from the book. Judy eyed Rachel's flushed face with a wary expression. They sat at opposite ends of the couch for the remainder of the day.

Today, Rachel was alone, and a part of her welcomed it. A little after noon, she went to prepare a nice, warm bubble bath when she heard the doorbell. She ignored it at first, taking off her robe and dipped one foot into the tub. The bell rang again (incessantly) and with a censored curse word, she stormed down the stairs only to find Quinn standing in front of her when she flung the door open.

Rachel mumbled something incoherent and Quinn connected their lips together. Rachel hesitated for a moment, ignoring the churn in the pit of her stomach, while Quinn pulled her closer around the waist. Quinn gripped onto her cozy, cotton bathrobe with her fists, stopping the kiss after another few seconds without putting any distance between them and, Rachel knew by the fire in her eyes that Quinn knew she was naked underneath.

"Are you dads home?"

"No, they're—"

Quinn kissed her again, hard this time—no gentleness at all—Rachel returned the kiss with the same anxiety. She made a sound in the back of her throat, raising her arms to tangle her fingers into Quinn's hair. Their breaths became uneven, releasing all their pent-up emotions and sexual frustration in this one kiss. She started to move her hips against Quinn's and it was like that was all Quinn needed because the next minute her bathrobe was loosened and Quinn's hands slid around her bare stomach, working its way upward to her breasts.

They stumbled backward until Rachel's back was against the wall, one of her legs around Quinn's hip. She buckled against it, Quinn holding her between the smooth wall and her heated body. She could feel the tremors in Quinn's muscles, from the force of having to hold back and the need to tear through Rachel, making her gasp.

When her willpower returned to her body, she pushed Quinn away lightly, their chests heaving, jaw set. Quinn mumbled a low curse word that Rachel wishes to not repeat.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, out of breath.

Quinn ran her hands through her hair. "Santana told me you've been calling her insanely all morning to hang out."

"I did not!" She said. "I called her once." When Quinn raised her eyebrow to question, Rachel said, "Okay, I rung her seven times before she answered."

"Rach, I was coming back tomorrow."

Rachel forced herself to meet Quinn's watchful gaze. "I've missed you."

Her breathing was still uneven, but Quinn kissed her anyway, biting gently on her lower lip. "We've only separated for six hours."

"What did your mom say? Does she know you're here? Oh god, is she outside?"

Realizing she had yet to explain the situation to Rachel, she let out an exasperated breath. "Brittany called my mom begging her to let me come home because she needed my help with a math problem."

"And your mom bought it?"

"Not quite. It took a lot of convincing but that's what Britt does best."

"Who's idea was this?"

"Santana's. She kept screaming at me for making the mistake of giving you her number and I had to come back to rectify the problem. The problem being _you_."

"I resent that, Quinn. You're supposed to be my girlfriend and support my—"

"Delirious behavior."

"—unbalanced mentality. I can't help it if I miss you and would like the company of my friends to fill the void."

The look Quinn gave her was a look of comfort and assurance. "I've missed you, too."

Rachel moved closer to Quinn again, drawn by her heat, and absurdly happy when Quinn slipped her arms to gather her in. "When do you have to go home?"

"My mom's coming back tonight. So we have—" She glanced at the clock on the wall. "—five hours."

"Plenty of time."

"For what?"

Rachel was already dragging Quinn to her bedroom.

In her bedroom, they kissed themselves into a white heat. It started slow, and within minutes she pushed Quinn onto the bed and straddled her, her soft weight pinning Quinn down. Quinn's hands cupped Rachel's breasts and a low guttural moan escaped from her lips, igniting a fire inside Quinn's body. She deserted Rachel's mouth for her neck and shoulder, but that wasn't enough and moved down to cover her breasts with her mouth.

"Quinn—" Quinn didn't stop and Rachel said through heavy breaths. "Is this really happening?"

Quinn lifted her head only slightly. "Do you want it to?"

"Yes, but—" She held Quinn's face between her hands and said, "I can't stop thinking about your mom."

"_What?_"

"No, not like that!"

Rachel sat back and took a deep breath. "That incident has traumatized me immensely."

Quinn bent to kiss her neck and bit it softly instead. "My mom's not here, Rach. We're alone. Your dads aren't going to be home for a while, right?"

"Right," she mumbled, her mouth pressed against Quinn's. "Let me lock the door just in case." She flung herself back, clambering over Quinn and padded to the door. When Rachel came back, she nudged Quinn over to the cool side of the bed. Quinn allowed her in, sliding one arm underneath Rachel's shoulders, kissing her neck speculatively. Rachel turned to look at her. "Now, what?"

"Now, we make-out."

"How long do we make out for?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do we kiss for thirty minutes, one hour, what?"

"I don't understand the question."

"What do we do after we kiss?"

Quinn was at the beginning stages of frustration. "Rachel, what is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry," she put her face in the crook of Quinn's neck. "I'm nervous."

Before Rachel could say anything else, Quinn captured her chin, all the while bringing her head down and closed her lips lightly against Rachel's, cold from the temperature, but as the kiss went on, warmer, much warmer. Rachel settled into the kiss, it was unexpected. Every one of her senses filled with discord, her body felt like it was plummeting and soaring at the same time, her lungs felt oxygen deprived. Quinn moved down to Rachel's breasts, and her body went still, then stiff, then arched in pure pleasure. This was incredible pleasure compared to what she felt the first time Quinn had done this. Instantly, she shook the thought out her head because she did not want to think about Judy Fabray and the incident that-shall-never-be-spoken-of-again.

With unsteady hands, Rachel helped Quinn take off her shirt, but when she went to remove Quinn's bra, Quinn stopped. "You're going to see me naked."

"Well—" She was at a loss for words. "Well—isn't that the point?"

"Yeah... It's just—"

"We're both going to see each other naked. You're staring at my bare breasts while you're speaking!"

Slowly, Quinn dragged in a breath, sat on her knees and began to contemplate internally. Rachel reached for Quinn's hand and Quinn said, "Let's just both take our clothes off."

"I thought that's what we were doing?"

"I meant take it all off at once and get into bed."

"Oh."

"We're going to be naked anyway. Why go through the awkward process of straining our bodies during the heat of the moment and just do it ourselves?"

They both got off the bed and darted their eyes anywhere except at each other. Rachel's conscience has wandered to this moment more times than she cared to admit, and she'd think about the candlelit dinner, rose petals and romantic movie. Not once has she imagined how nervous she would be. She wasn't exactly sure what to do. She had no experience in this department. What would be appropriate. How would things pan out. All she knew was that she felt tingly about touching Quinn.

"Should we—turn our backs and then—"

"Yeah." Quinn agreed.

They turned their backs to each other. Rachel loosened her bathrobe and it fell to the floor. She didn't have many layers to discard. She was naked in a flash. She peered over her shoulder to see Quinn's bare back and in her underwear. When they were ready, Rachel made a little prayer to the powers that be. Please be real. Please don't let this be a dream.

Quinn was beautiful, her body lithe and lean and lovely. Rachel's head was still spinning when Quinn wrapped her arms around her neck and squeezed Rachel to her chest. She grazed her fingers backwards and forwards across Quinn's breast, until the perfect pink nipple began to rise. Then she leaned forward and kissed Quinn. It was a fairytale kiss. She made a mental note to record this moment in her notebook in case she might forget it one day (doubtful).

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked.

Rachel was focused on Quinn's wet center touching her thigh she wasn't listening. Quinn kissed her again, their tongues wrapping around each other. Slowly, Quinn pushed on her shoulders, pressed her down on the bed. Goosebumps prickled her skin, and her nipples tightening in the cooler air. Quinn made a low sound and her jaw clenched.

"God, I hope no one barges through that door." Quinn said. Rachel stared at her, not sure what to say, and Quinn suddenly grinned, eyes crinkling in that sweet, almost girlish way. "Just joking. I do have a sense of humor, you know."

Rachel sucked in a low, shaky breath. Not a dream. This is happening. Quinn is gorgeous naked. Why is it not acceptable for Quinn to be naked all the time.

Quinn examined her again, her gaze probing as if checking to make sure Rachel hadn't changed her mind—and Quinn's care for her swept aside all her remaining doubts.

Quinn's breath, Quinn's lips, the smell of her—everything in Rachel's head was happening at a delirious high speed. From one second to another she had no idea what to do next. Wherever her hands roamed over Quinn's soft, smooth skin, her brain exploded in a fountain of color, at the same time she could feel her skin fluttering when it came in contact with Quinn's mouth—her ears, her neck, her shoulders, her stomach.

Rachel cupped Quinn's breast, and she began to melt, it was a delicious shock. She felt Quinn tighten above her, but when she opened her eyes, Quinn was staring at her, and she blushed from embarrassment and from heat and from wanting Quinn. She bent down to savor the taste of Quinn's breast in her mouth and forgot to be embarrassed, sighing against her soft flesh.

Instantly, Quinn jolted backwards and Rachel looked at her in shock. "What happened?"

"You bit too hard." Quinn giggled.

"Oh, sorry." Back to embarrassment again.

Their kisses were urgent now, but not as rough as before. Quinn's hands ran down the length of Rachel's body, making every nerve she had scream. Quinn slid her thigh between Rachel, they stared back at one another, hot, crazy and then Quinn kissed her again and slipped her tongue in Rachel's mouth as she slid her hand further down to touch the hotness between the other girl's legs. Rachel gasped and clutched at her waist, only to open her eyes in complete surprise when Quinn pulled her hand back.

"Why are you stopping?" Rachel said, forcing her vocal cords to work.

Quinn was gasping so hard Rachel thought she might be having an asthma attack. She tipped her head to the side trying to read Rachel's reaction. Rachel's mind raced back to the past few minutes and wondered whether there were other errors she had made besides biting Quinn a little too hard. When she was certain that was a one-time occurrence, she evened her voice to stop from scowling. "Quinn, are you just going to stare at me—"

"You're not—" She was having a hard time finding her words.

"I'm not, what?"

"You're not—wet."

This was the moment where, had she done her research, she would've been able to apprehend what Quinn was trying to tell her. "I don't—"

"Rachel," Quinn moved off of her and she was enveloped by the cold. "Is this not turning you on?"

"I am. It is!"

"Well, you're not wet and it's hard to, you know—"

Rachel's brain finally caught up. "Oh—Oh!"

"Took you long enough." Quinn said.

"What—what happens now?"

Quinn exhaled in frustration. "I don't have all the answers. It's not as though I go around having sex with women."

"Yeah, but, I mean—you've done it."

"Once, Rachel. And I was drunk," she snapped and then immediately regretted it. "Sorry. Frustrated."

"Are you wet?" Quinn gave a barely-there nod and Rachel said, "This doesn't have to be about me, Quinn. Maybe when we do it and you've—come—I'll—get wet—too." God, why was sex talk so difficult?

They laid back, their heat made the air seem thick. Quinn's back was slightly arched when Rachel rolled atop of her in one fluid motion. Quinn started to move against her thigh, she felt weak as the pleasure rose within her. Rachel murmured something that even she couldn't understand, moving to Quinn's breast once again, teasing until she can sense how close Quinn was to the edge. She pulled back and reclaimed Quinn's lips—a deep and devouring kiss. Rachel eased Quinn's legs further apart and touched her. Lightly, slowly at first, and when her breathing grew sharper, more ragged, and her hips rose urgently, Rachel slid her fingers inside of her. Quinn stiffened, rising against Rachel, digging her fingers into Rachel's arm as the other hand closed into a fist on the blankets.

Rachel wasn't sure _how_ to do this. Her knowledge regarding female intercourse was about the same size as Finn's pea brain, and that's a cause for alarm. Quinn's eyes were closed, her breathing had become intermittent. Rachel moved her hand back and forth, and when she pushed harder, she felt Quinn _everywhere_ from the tips of her fingers to behind her eyelids, Quinn's moans were music to her ears. She started off slow, resting her forearm on the side of Quinn's head, then her pace picked up when Quinn urged her to move faster. Rachel dropped her head to the crook of Quinn's neck. She kissed her ear, her tongue tracing its shape—

Her hand began to ache, her leg was beginning to cramp. Her hand slowed to uneven movements, Quinn was no longer breathing heavily, her moans had turned into what sounded like frustrated mumbling. She didn't know much (close to nil) about intercourse, but she knew enough to know that this wasn't ideal. Quinn regarded her wearily and Rachel shuffled her leg from under Quinn's urgently to stop the cramp that was making its ascend up her body. When Rachel moved her hand back to touch Quinn, it was a strange sensation. There was no heat, no warmth—Quinn was no longer wet. And then she thought, oh so _this_ was what Quinn was referring to.

Reluctantly, like a mutual understanding, they both pulled away and Rachel collapsed beside Quinn on the bed, both staring blankly at the white ceiling. She couldn't comprehend what had happened. This wasn't part of the script. It all seemed so simple in theory. Foreplay, yes, did that. Kissing, biting, licking, touching, exploring. Arousal, yes, there was definitely arousal. Quinn was very aroused when Rachel touched her, she almost gave Rachel a head spin when she slid her fingers into Quinn and Quinn stiffened and the sweetest moan escaped her lips. Orgasm, no. Quinn did not have an orgasm. Rachel knew what an orgasm sounded like. She also knew what an orgasm felt like.

But now, despite the brash simplicity, nothing was as it seemed. Afterward they were supposed to hug each other and Quinn would say, I love you, that was amazing. They'll slowly calm down to catch their breaths and repeat it all over again.

What Rachel loved most about their relationship—besides Quinn—was their uncomplicated silence. One time after school, they had spent an entire night in silence while doing homework and watching a movie before Quinn fell asleep on her bed. How astonishing, she had thought. _This_ was how it should be. It seemed it wasn't just love, but romance too.

This was now complicated silence. They continued to stare at the ceiling. There was a distance between them. Her mind was blank. She watched a fly on the ceiling. Then it flew away. Then she thought, I must shoo it out the window later. This happens to couples, she told herself. It's entirely normal.

"I should go." Quinn finally said.

Rachel felt a huge sense of relief, and then guilt realizing Quinn might have been able to sense it from her.

Quinn began putting on her clothes and in Rachel's head, this is what happened. She touched Quinn's bare back to get her attention, they laid back on the bed and snuggled close, muttering understanding and patience, they kissed again, said they loved one another and this won't affect their relationship, Quinn remained curled in Rachel's arms and they fell asleep.

Of course, this was all in her head. Her mind conjured the whole event and she watched it play out in slow motion.

"Rachel!"

Rachel snapped her head up to see Quinn at her bedroom door, completely dressed, her hand on the doorknob. She couldn't be certain of Quinn's expression. Maybe she was a little angry, maybe she was sad, maybe she didn't care. Damn Quinn Fabray and her guarded nature.

Rachel wrapped the comforter around her body and walked up to Quinn. "Um, call me?"

"Yeah."

They both leaned in to kiss one another only to bump their noses awkwardly together.

"Sorry." Rachel said, rubbing the tip of her nose. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Quinn's eagerness to leave Rachel's house was almost comical in its urgency.

**•••**

**June 14th, 2016**

_June 11th._

_Dear Rachel, _

_How are you? How is New York? How is the play coming along?_

_That was a lame start to a letter. Let me start again. Dear Rachel, I'm terribly sorry that it has taken me a week to get back to you. There have been so many interviews, promotions, meeting fans, photographers, I haven't had a proper chance to sit down and reply to you. I'm currently in Amsterdam, this will be my last stop. Then back to L.A for a final promotion at the L.A Film Festival and I'll have a week off. A whole week. Can you believe that? I can't remember the last time a whole week wasn't planned out for me. _

_Since your last email, I have decided to take your advice and drink that protein shake you suggested. I'm still alive, as you can tell, and it tastes alright. I wouldn't call it appetizing, but it has done wonders for my well-being. My stress levels have certainly lowered, and I think my stamina has increased. Sometimes I get the feeling it could be the placebo effect. But who knows? I have cut down on drinking coffee. Two cups a day now! The only downside is that now that I've been using so much energy during the day by 9pm all I want to do is crawl into bed and fall into a deep slumber. Maybe I'm just getting old? 23 isn't old, right? Why am I asking you. You're the oldest person I know._

_I was joking, by the way. I know how hard it is for you to read my sarcasm through these emails. Seriously, Rachel, you need to adapt to these new social interactions. Every time I make a joke I can't add "just joking", it defeats the whole purpose of a joke. Oh and by the way is 'btw'. Please learn the correct abbreviations. Remind me to make you a list. It'll make sending you emails and texts a lot easier! __ Anyway, I can't believe I rambled on about the significance of how a joke should be established. I think your rambling is contagious. Again, joking. Please don't spend 14 lines yelling at me in your next email._

_What was I saying? Oh right, I'm in Amsterdam. This city is beautiful. You will love it here. It's peaceful and quiet, it even smells like spring. I made a list of so many things I've wanted to do but the only thing I've done so far is visit the Anne Frank House. There are so many stairs. One floor had 14! I couldn't believe how unfit I was. Walking up 7 I was already out of breath. I took photos for you. You won't remember but there was a time you were reading The Fault in our Stars and in the book Hazel visited the Anne Frank House and you mentioned it many, many times afterward how you would love to visit Amsterdam. Of course, now that you've landed the lead in the revival you probably want to see it more than anything._

Rachel turned her script down as Gary Nutkin entered, skinny and anxious, and it was time for the pre-show pep-talk from the director. He stood in the doorway, cleared his throat, the top button of his black shirt fastened tight. A man who's personal style icon was George Orwell. She didn't know what to make of it as George Orwell died over five decades ago and there's a man still worshiping him.

"Great crowd so far, everyone! I heard tickets have all been sold out. This is a great turn out considering!" Though considering what he didn't exactly say, perhaps because he was distracted by Andrea performing pelvic rolls in a polka-dot all-in-one. "Let's give them one hell of a show! Let's knock them dead."

"I'd like to knock them dead." Growled Sid, watching Andrea while picking at pastry crumps. "Cricket bat with little nails in it."

"Stay positive, Sid, will you please?" Implored Andrea on a long, controlled breath.

Gary continued. "Remember, keep it fresh, stay connected, keep it lively, say the lines like it's the first time and most importantly of all, don't let the audience intimidate or goad you in any way. Interaction is great. _Retaliation_ is not. Fifteen minutes till show time!"

Sid began his nightly warm-up now, a murmured incantation of relax-relax-relax-I-can-do-this. Beyond him sat Ian in his suit and tie looking forlorn, hands jammed in his pockets, head lolling back, meditating or trying to prepare himself for the moment the SS Officers beat through the closet doors and capture them (he always had to prepare in advance). To Rachel's left, Andrea sang songs from _Les __Misérables _in a light, flat tone. Rachel turned back to her reflection in the mirror, plumped up in the long, vintage dress, a 1930's classic.

The word had gotten through the entertainment realm that Rachel Berry was making a Broadway comeback in _the Diary of Anna Frank_. It wasn't an easy success, the month had been a series of vocal lessons, acting lessons, auditions, bad choices, abandoned projects. There was the _Evita_ audition in which the director said her vocal range was mediocre, was no longer pleasing or excessive as it used to be. This led to ice cream at four in the morning and whimpering into Kurt's shoulder until she fell asleep. There was the alternative club night performance that no one had gone to and the next day she appeared on the sixteenth page: _Rachel Barbra Berry strip club entertainer? Not likely._ It wasn't even a strip club. At her very, very lowest ebb, she had taken a job singing in a bar which lasted one night because _this_ one was a strip club (according to Noah who so happened to be in town).

Then Gary Nutkin phoned, and up until then she had been calling him The Skinny Russian Man because she didn't know his name. He was the intermediary for _Avenue Q_, they had dinner and he mentioned they are in need of a new actress to fill the role of Anne Frank as the previously actress resigned due to a family matter. Production was in two weeks. Her success in _Avenue Q_ did not guarantee her any complimentary passes and she auditioned for the role of Anne Frank four times before the casting directors made their final decision. She experienced first-hand the thrill of singing for a role she desired, the heart-ache of waiting for the call backs and the buoyancy of winning the role all in the span of a week.

She glanced over at Sid who was still chanting. Relax-relax-ralax-I-can-do-this. Five minutes until curtains. She pressed her hands against her ears, and asked herself some fundamental questions.

Why am I here? _This is my dream_.

Am I really making a difference? _Yes, aspiring young actresses look up to me. I was in a motor-vehicle accident and am alive, making my comeback on Broadway._

Why can't Andrea put on some clothes? _She is a harlot. Rachel, stop that. She's your friend._

What is that smell? _No, idea._

Where do I want to be right now? _With Quinn. In Amsterdam. In her arms._

_Ah, so you saw that photo of me with Mark Morley. His hand was rather low on my waist, wasn't it? Do you fancy him, Rachel? Fancy. God, I sounded posh there for a second. He's just a co-star. It's ridiculous some of these stories that I read about myself. I had lunch with my director the other day discussing a possible sequel and he leaned in to kiss me goodbye on the cheek. Some paparazzo snapped it right the moment he pulled away, it seemed like he had pecked me on the lips and it got turned into a full blown story about me being a home wrecker, cheating on you and no longer a lesbian. I don't know where people get these ideas from. But I'm assuming you already know. You have been in the public eye more than me, and have been prepared for these moments since birth. At times I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with it. I like what I do, acting gives me such a rush. It's being in the public eye that's frightening. I wonder what my dad thought when he read that? Any guesses? Probably glad that I'm no longer gay. Assuming he even saw it. _

_Let me assure you for the 50 billionth time, there are no nude scenes. Sex, yes, but it's not R-rated. It's all mild. Besides, I only have two. I don't even know why you're asking. You've seen me naked. Not that you remember, that's one good thing that came out from your memory lost. Too soon? Lol (laugh out loud, Rachel. Learn these). Candy, she plays Thea, she has 4 and one of them is a foursome with me. I divulged into that because, let's be honest, when will I ever get to have a foursome in real life? Lol. Again, joking. Puck will be loving the movie. He has been begging me to introduce him to Candy. I can sense his excitement as I write this. I haven't had the heart to tell him that she doesn't bat for his team._

_Candy is exactly what her name sounds like. She's very beautiful and spiritual and even though you won't approve of the word, she's a complete bitch. Worse than Santana. She's very keen on you. Every time she knows I'm in listening distance she'll say to someone, "have you read that article on Rachel Berry? She's absolutely talented and so beautiful". And every time we're together she'll ask about you, your memories and our relationship and she even had the nerve to say, "if you're no longer together may I have her number". Bitch. Sorry. Actually, I'm not. I am not introducing you to her btw. I can see you now, giving her that look where you clench your jaw and play with your lips and ask about her career. Am I ranting? I think I'm ranting. You really are contagious_.

Applause! Applause like she has never heard, rebounding off the walls inside the Music Box Theatre. Yes, there were a few technical difficulties involving lighting, sound, and set change cues. The stage manager somehow lost his prompt book, containing all the cues, technical notes, and other information pertinent to the show. And it's hard to imagine a more forgiving audience, but the show was a triumph. As predicted, Rachel Berry shone in her performance, leaving Andrea Dawson grinding her teeth as Rachel soaked up the largest round of applause. It's the largest imaginable triumph and Rachel's heart is beating in her chest and she can't stop grinning and she holds the hands of her cast as they bow and bow again. She feels the elation of doing something well, and she has finally understood what it means to live in hope.

Rachel retrieved to her dressing room to quickly change to prepare for interviews and fans waiting outside. As soon as she entered the room she could smell the flowers. The vast bouquet of red roses sitting on the table and she opened the small card. "Apologies for not being there. Hope it all goes well tonight, you're going to be wonderful. Much love, Q." That's all. Rachel read it twice, looked up at the clock and fumbled for her phone,

"One new voice message. Hey Rach, its Quinn, obviously. I'm getting on the plane. I hope you got my flowers, sorry I couldn't be there. What time will you be home? There'll probably be a party afterwards, wouldn't there? So I'm guessing late? Anyway, I'll see you soon. Don't get too drunk. Bye."

From the door she could hear loud chattering and cheers from her cast and crew congratulating one another on a grand opening night. Rachel was still in a frantic high and walked around the room several times to calm her shaky hands before dialing Quinn's number, and somewhere ten-thousand feet in the air Quinn's voicemail picked up. "This is Quinn. You know what to do."

She tried to remain as calm as possible. "Hi, you! You're probably still on the plane, or landed, most likely on the plane otherwise you would've advised me of your landing. First of all, thank you for the flowers. They're really beautiful, you shouldn't have. But mainly—the show was amazing, Quinn! _I _was amazing—" Do not sound conceited, Rachel. Do not. She added a laugh. Too fake. "—Everyone was amazing. It was just amazing! I can't wait to see you. It's been too long. Way, way, way too long." She hesitated: don't say 'way'. If you say 'way' too often it sounds like you're desperate. She continued, "Um ,yeah, so I'll be at the party, I shouldn't be too long. You should come, I'd love to introduce you to everyone." She sensed that her message has lost its sentiment (if it had any to begin with) and decides to bring it to a close. "I'll see you soon, Quinn—" She quickly added, "I miss you" before she could change her mind.

_I did hear about Mercedes and Sam. Bets on how long it'll take for them to get back together? We probably shouldn't. I'm such a bad friend haha. You don't understand, Rachel. I've been to country after country with the same people for the past month! I'm so tired of the same questions, interviews that are on at ungodly hours. Who the hell is still awake at 2am?! I need a new scenery. See new people. Anyway, back to Mercedes and Sam. Yeah it's sad to see it end. It probably won't end for long, it was probably just some argument that got out of hand and once they've had time apart they'll cool down. __What else has been happening? I need more gossip. No, I shouldn't say that. But they're our friends so it's ok, isn't it?_

_Tell me more about the play, rehearsals, what you've been doing. You can't possibly have spent the past few days rehearsing? Do you not have a life, Rachel? Let me answer that question: No. Lol. I'm sorry, it's 1am right now and I've been on youtube watching 'when animals attack'. People are stupid sometimes. It's like they see a tiger in the desert and think, oh hey I'm going to go near it and pat it and then we'll become friends and I can keep it as a pet. If you're going to go near a tiger, expect to get eaten. And then they go on tv and say things like, it came out of nowhere and chased after me. How can tigers come out of nowhere and people not see it? They see it and they go near it, that's what it is. Stupidity. Makes for great entertainment though. _

_So, I should probably end it here. This feels like the longest I've ever written to you. I've been avoiding answering your question, as you can tell. But now that I've come to an end I have no choice, right? Unless we discuss this when I see you. To be honest Rach, I don't know if we should get the divorce. It's been filed and the court date has been set and I made the mistake of asking my dad for help, but... a part of me feels as though it's the right thing to do. We can't be friends and be married...? I'll see you in a few days, anyway. We'll talk. Take care, ok. And sorry again I won't be there for opening night. _

_I miss you._

_Quinn. _

At the party afterwards, Rachel was gathered around her friends, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. She has spent most of the night drinking wine and soaking up praise. "Fabulous show, Rachel. Big enough to go international!" Someone said, somewhat unrealistically. Others walk by to congratulate her, but they didn't linger long enough, just a pat on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek. She could spot Andrea in the distance looking bored and bad tempered. She continued to drink steadily to pass the time, but the wine was stale in her mouth and nothing lifted the sense of dullness and creeping fatigue.

"Having fun, Rachel?" Ian was beside her now, leaning a little too close.

"Yeah, it's great."

"You seem distracted."

She glanced at her watch. 11:24. Good enough to go home. "I might head home. I'm kind of tired now."

"Really, it's not even twelve yet."

"I'm meeting someone. I should probably go." She lifted her bag and was almost out the door when he held onto her wrist,

"I'll take you home."

"Ian, it's perfectly fine."

"Rachel, I'm not going to let you go home alone." Before she could stop him, he rushed over to say goodbye to a few of his friends and met her at the door.

They walked down the pathway, the sound of her heels tapping on the pavement. With every tap it sounded as though it was saying _Quinn_. She was irritated by Ian's presence, she wanted to have this moment to make a list of topics she and Quinn could talk about, things they could do. After the wedding Quinn flew back to L.A. and they have been emailing each other a few times a week for a month. Quinn was her escape when she didn't get the part in _Evita_, Quinn encouraged her to continue with auditions, Quinn despised the fact that she performed in the alternative night club, _Quinn_ sent Noah Puckerman to talk to sense into her when she obtained the job at the strip club.

"So, you and Quinn Fabray." Ian said.

She couldn't distinguish whether it was a question or a statement. "Yes, Quinn Fabray and I."

"Still together?"

"Um, yeah..."

"She's hot."

"Very."

"I heard she's doing a movie in L.A."

"Uh huh."

"You guys aren't into threesomes and stuff, are you? Rachel?"

Rachel wasn't listening. She had halted dead on the pavement, gazing before her as blindly as a statue. Ian followed her eyes and Quinn was walking toward them, elegant in her summer dress and her hair in a bun. Quinn's smile was wide, eyes shimmering; Rachel's expression mimicked hers exactly.

Rachel couldn't say who moved first. But Quinn's arms were round her waist, and her face pressed hard against the crook of Quinn's neck. She could feel Quinn breathing in her scent as if she were trying to convince herself that Rachel was real. Her arms gathering the smaller girl in tighter.

Ian cleared his throat. Rachel giggled at Quinn's annoyed groan at the interruption. "Ian, this is Quinn. Quinn, Ian. He's Peter in the play."

He held out his hand, smirking. "Nice to finally meet you, Quinn. I've heard so much about you."

Quinn shook his hand and had to pull it away from his grasp when he held on for too long. "Yeah, you too. And I'm gay, so drop the smirk."

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked joyfully, like a child on sugar.

"I wanted to see you."

"I thought we were meeting at home?"

"I got tired of waiting."

"I was just heading home."

Quinn's fingers began stirring the strands of Rachel's hair. "Let's go somewhere else."

Remembering that Ian was beside them, Rachel turned to him. "Thanks for walking me, Ian. You should go back to the party. It's still early."

They turned away from him and walked arm in arm. Rachel couldn't remember the last time she's ever felt better in her life. The city lights glittered above them. The moon behind them cast a faint tangerine aura around Quinn. Rachel thought she looked angelic. "Where are we going, Quinn?"

Quinn stood at the edge of the foot path and hailed a cab. "To the beach."

Rachel gave herself over to all those extraordinary feelings when Quinn continued to hold her hand in the cab. They watched the city lights dazzling before them, both content to sit in silence. There have been moments in the past thirty days where she's felt a swirling in her head gathering force. That swirling was from thoughts about Quinn. It was always about Quinn. She would feel nervous electricity from reading Quinn's emails. Just the simple notion of reading Quinn's words was enough to put her into a state of delirium beyond pleasant. She'd find herself smiling, so astonished by the mere fact there was now twenty days until she would see Quinn again, then ten, five, and one. Rachel knew she was beginning to feel it, but she didn't want to say anything. Her heart was full of hope. It was a good starting point.

Quinn paid the cab driver and they headed along the bay past the half-built houses of the town as it spread itself along the coast. As they walked and talked, Rachel silently reminded herself to be sensible. She had quite a few drinks at the party. Recklessness, spontaneity didn't really suit her, she couldn't carry it off, the results were never what she hoped for.

They had left the town behind, and Quinn took her hand to support her as she stumbled woozily over the dry dunes, still warm from the day's sun. They walked towards the sea to where the sand was wet and firm and Rachel noticed that Quinn was still holding her hand.

"A bit drunk there, Rach."

"Where are we going?" She asked, nothing the slur in her voice.

"Let's go for a swim."

"You're insane."

"Come on, Rach, it'll be fun."

"I'll drown."

"You won't. Look, it's beautiful." The sea was very calm and clear like some wonderful aquarium; if you scooped it up it would glow in your hands. Quinn was already pulling her dress off over her head. "It'll sober you up."

"But I haven't got my swimming cost—" A realization dawned. "Are you serious right now, Quinn?"

"Why not?"

"People could see us!"

Quinn was now in her bra and underwear and Rachel had to look away. "No one's here. It's past midnight."

"I'm not going in there." She huffed defiantly.

"You're going to regret it." Quinn was naked. And for a second Rachel thought she had died and gone to heaven. She made a little prayer to the powers that be. Please be real. Please don't let this be a dream. The prayer felt eerily familiar.

"You're going to leave me here all alone while you skinny-dip?"

"Come with me!" Quinn's back was to her now, walking toward the water.

"Quinn!"

She watched Quinn fall forward into the surf and Rachel stood, swaying woozily, feeling solitary and absurd. Wasn't this an experience that you were meant to crave? Why couldn't she be more spontaneous and reckless? She was drunk, after all. If she was too scared to swim without a costume how could she ever be expected to make love to her co-stars in future roles? Before the thought had finished, she reached down, grabbed the hem of her dress and in a single movement it peeled over her head. She ran naked, laughing and screaming towards the water's edge.

Rachel arrived, gasping, splashing towards Quinn, suddenly aware of the sea's translucent. "So this is it then?"

"What?"

"Skinny-dipping!"

"What do you think?"

"What am I meant to do now, just goof around or splash you or what?" Rachel cupped her hand, threw water lightly at Quinn's face.

Before Quinn could splash her back the current caught Rachel and pushed her towards Quinn, who stood with her feet braced against the sea-bed. Quinn caught her, their legs interlacing like clasped fingers, bodies touching then held apart again, like dancers.

"That's a very soulful face," Rachel said, to break the silence. "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh—nothing." Under the water, Quinn's hands found her waist and held on. "However, I do want to do this." Grinning expectantly, Quinn lifted Rachel in her arms and in one quick motion threw her into the water.

Rachel bounced back up, laughing, shaking the water from her hair. "You think you're so funny, Quinn."

Quinn was walking backwards away from her. "I think I'm very funny, actually."

Rachel caught up to her and, oblivious to her own nakedness, she bounced up out of the water and with all her weight pushed Quinn's head down the water and held it there for five seconds. Quinn jerked up instantly, her hair falling out from its bun, she was laughing a rigid ha ha ha.

"Oh, and that's funny?" She said eventually, pinching the water from her nose.

"You laughed so it must have been funny." Rachel added.

They continued like that for a little longer. Rachel would dive under the water and find ways to splash Quinn, or she'd dive as if she were diving into another world away from the heat. They swam a little and spent ten minutes floating on their backs staring at the startling sky above. Rachel's fingers would aimlessly brush against Quinn's.

The route home took them along the harbor front. "I'm sober now and exhausted. Are we going home? What's the time?"

Quinn checked her watch. "It's two."

"In the morning?"

"No, Rachel, it's two in the afternoon and we're walking under the stars." She answered sarcastically.

"Shut up, Quinn."

They headed into town, and coming up a narrow road where the cab driver had first dropped them off, Rachel was about to hail another cab when Quinn stopped her. "Let's just stay in one of those hotels for the night." She nodded toward the closest in the distance.

"But we haven't got any clothes, toothbrushes, towels."

"Hotels provide that, don't they?"

"Not toothbrushes."

"The front desk will bring us one."

"Clothes?"

Quinn shrugged like it was no big deal. "Sleep naked."

Rachel regarded her carefully and then said, "If I'm not mistaken, I think that you're trying to get me naked."

"Correction, Rachel, I've already gotten you naked. Several times as a matter of fact." Quinn winked and dragged Rachel across the road, making their way toward the hotel.

Rachel mumbled a quiet, "It's so unfair that out of all memories I had to lose the memory of Quinn writhing beneath me."

They paid for their room and when Rachel saw it was a queen-size bed she looked into Quinn's eyes for that flicker. Her stomach started to fill with butterflies and she knew without a doubt what was going to happen. What she thought was, I can't wait to be naked in bed with Quinn. How she felt was, nauseous (just a little), and extremely nervous (like having sex for the first time). She acted casual, as though catching random suggestions from the air.

"You can take the bed and I'll—"

"Take the floor?" Quinn finished, giggling lightly.

Rachel scanned her eyes around for a couch, but there was only a table, a chair and the television. "If you're uncomfortable with sleeping on the bed together I can take the floor."

"We've done it before." Quinn answered. "Besides, it's not like you've got anything I haven't seen."

"Bed it is then."

They showered (not together), stripped and hopped into bed, their backs parallel, Rachel relishing the sensation of the cold white sheets against tender skin. She was so full of benevolence. Was this what it felt like? _Love_. She felt like she had won the lottery. And considering she had already fallen in love with Quinn once, falling again would mean she was going to win it twice.

"Today was a great day." She said.

"Yeah," Quinn agreed. "Listen, Rach, let's just talk about the divorce and get it out of the way."

"Okay."

She turned to face Quinn, her face in profile, staring petulantly at the ceiling. She nudged Quinn's foot with hers. "Just tell me what you're thinking." Quinn sniffed and she took her hand beneath the sheet, squeezed it hard until Quinn turned her head to look at Rachel. "We should be honest with each other."

"We should get the divorce." She mumbled.

The sweet dam had burst, the Dam of Relief which had them tumbling together and would now expand into separation. They had put off the conversation for far too long, but hearing Quinn _actually_ say the words didn't prepare Rachel for all the emotions it elicited.

"Oh."

"Rachel," Quinn turned her body. "We can't be friends and be married."

"I know."

"If this gets to court, it's going to be really expensive, Rach. We're still paying off medical bills. We should settle it personally."

"I know."

"What are you feeling?"

Numb. Sadness. Relief. She didn't know which to choose from. "I don't know. You're right." She nodded vigorously, convincing herself in the process.

Her heart beat picked up a little as she thought it: I have to let Quinn go. That was the next step in their new-found friendship. They could stay and pick up the marriage where it left of, the only problem being Rachel had no memories of how, when, or where it began. The flashes were all little snippets of moments like tiny pieces of puzzle spread everywhere. She had to connect them together but she didn't know where to start. It was better to be honest than to pretend.

"I'll sign the papers and send it back to your dad." She said softly, wondering if Quinn had heard.

Quinn didn't say anything for a long time. She continued to stare at Rachel who was staring at the ceiling. Just as Rachel thought she had fallen asleep, Quinn said, "We'll still keep in contact like we are now. I'll always be here for you. No more disappearing, I promise."

Rachel smiled affectionately, choosing to not ruin today and putting everything behind her. She shuffled close enough to plant a soft kiss on Quinn's lips. "Good night, Quinn."

"Good night, Rachel."

They lay like that, facing one another. Quinn was the first to close her eyes and Rachel watched as the weariness overcame her, sleep creeping through her veins like anesthetic. Rachel's stomach was doing somersaults by now, just watching Quinn sleep. It was so simple. She breathed in the smell of Quinn's hair, the exact texture of her skin. Her hand memorized Quinn's cheek, her throat, the fall of her hair.

"Quinn?"

Quinn was snoring lightly. Rachel said in a whisper, "I'm falling in love with you."

Like she said, her heart was full of hope. It was a good starting point.

**•••**

**June 26th, 2016**

_Dear diary, _

_Today_—

Really, Rachel, dear diary. The isn't _The_ _Vampire Diaries_ and you're doing a voice over. She crossed it out and started again.

_Hello._

_Four days ago, Quinn moved out. The apartment has lost its meaning. During the three years we've acquired so many things it was hard to determine who would get what. Of course, I don't remember most of it so I suggested that Quinn take whatever she wished. She left the apartment for me to save me having to look for a new one, it was the least I could do, probably my greatest contribution to the whole deal. She's so sweet it gives me cavities. I'm so confused. _

_Oh, before I forget. We had sex. And then she left. I'm very confused as you can probably tell. _

It wasn't yet ten o'clock when Rachel came face to face with Russell Fabray in his conference room. Quinn had yet to arrive. Her fathers, Kurt and her lawyer, Timothy were beside her. She didn't want a lawyer, it seemed too personal. She and Quinn had spent days discussing the best way to deal with the situation and save their friendship. They had come to an agreement and though they didn't want to have to go through Russell and Timothy, it was the only way to have it finalized. They couldn't meet in a courtroom (too many spectators). They couldn't meet anywhere near the theatre Rachel's play was located. They couldn't meet anywhere with a lot of crowds. Russell was the only person Quinn trusted enough to keep the details of their divorce out of prying ears and the media, and strangely enough, Rachel did too. He proved it when he made Timothy sign a confidentially agreement.

While sitting across from him, she felt the beginning stages of the forlorn, dissolute air that seemed to attach itself to any situation when you knew something was coming to an end. There was no color anywhere around the room and the little there was on the landscapes on the walls, it was draining away, as if to conform with a monochrome future.

Her fathers squeezed her hand, smiling reassuringly. She glanced over at Russell. He wore another face; tight, arrogant, tense, as if the day was a challenge he was preparing to take on. She wondered then if she had ever met Russell while she and Quinn were together. What did he think of her? Did he berate Quinn endlessly about the "sin" she was committing? Did he ever make conversations with her? It was another series of questions she'll never have the answers to.

The doors opened and Quinn finally arrived, breathless, apologetic, complaining about the traffic. Russell fixed her with a vicious glare. She ignored him and turned to Rachel's fathers, who greeted her warmly.

"It's great to see you again, Quinn." Hiram said.

She kissed Kurt on the cheek, shook Timothy's hand in a gentle greeting and sat two seats away from Russell.

"Let's get started." Russell said sullenly. He began flipping through papers.

So it began. It was out of her hands. She was trying to concentrate on the conversation but her pulse was racing and she couldn't concentrate on anything except after today it would be over. For good? She didn't know. On the outside she was trying to remain calm. She glanced over at Quinn a few times to read her expression but she was guarded, she knew Quinn well enough to know when there was a barrier for her emotions. They talked about assets, certain possessions like the television, appliances, things they purchased together. The two lawyers used their mathematical brains to calculate the amount to be split between Rachel and Quinn depending on the length of time they had been married (which wasn't a lot considering they were only married for six months), but Rachel earned a lot more than Quinn during those six months so her split was a little more. This didn't make Russell too happy, she heard the scowl in his voice when Quinn agreed and told him to let it go.

"Quinn used her income to pay for the medical bills." Russell argued.

"Yes, but Rachel was in no state to be managing it on her own." Timothy replied.

"Quinn did the right thing by her _wife_."

"She was also the one to file for divorce."

It went on and it got more vicious. There were lulls and it would charge up again. Rachel couldn't remember the next five minutes of the conversation. Her mind delved somewhere deep within her to find comfort and she repeated a poem over and over again: It is so easy for me to love you that it frightens me. I've never been good at anything. But I've never wanted anything so much as I want to hold you every waking minute. And every night while I sleep. The question has ceased to be, _How do I love you?_ and has become, _How would I ever stop?_

In the end they reached a conclusion of sorts. The argument had gone on for too long. Rachel thought it was over until she heard Quinn say,

"Rachel can have the apartment."

That hadn't been part of their agreement. The agreement was to split everything, or as much as could be split, and they would both move out, find a different place. Her body tightened as a shock of naked, electric disappointment ran through her. "Quinn, we agreed."

When Quinn finally looked at her for the first time, Rachel saw the conviction; Quinn decided this long before they had agreed to anything, possibly even before the papers were filed. She knew that the conversation they will eventually have did not belong in this overheated, crammed, ugly conference room.

Russell leaned forward to try and read Quinn's face. There was not a trace of arrogance there, no sneer; he looked ashamed. It was clear that he had long given up any interest in or passion for this case. "Suit yourself, Quinn."

_I had lunch with my dads and Kurt afterward. Quinn went somewhere and promised me she would call later during the day. They were just as surprised with the outcome as I was. I wish Quinn had led me in on her secret, but then, what could I have done? When Quinn Fabray sets her mind to something there would be no changing it. _

_I watched the way they ate, listened to the conversations idly, adding my own thoughts and not remembering what I said afterwards. Sometimes I wonder if losing five years of my life also meant losing my short term memory. Is that possible? I'd say something and I'd forget it. I'd drift off when others were having conversations. To be fair, many of these incidents occur when I'm in the presence of Quinn or thinking about Quinn. So it's probably just Quinn herself. She's dangerous that Quinn Fabray. She squeezes my heart (theoretically, of course), sometimes it beats so fast I can hardly contain it and I feel a headache coming on, other times it slows down and my breathing slows along with it. When I'm with her, I'm suspended in time, content. _

_Now that she's not here it's a sad feeling. Sad. Three letters with such a strong meaning. I don't think I felt sad when I woke from my coma. I was happy to be alive. I was happy I had friends, people who cared for me. Even Santana has been like a breath of fresh air. Note to self: Do not ever show Santana this entry. Back to what I was saying. When Quinn left about three months ago, it was the anxiety of no longer having her in my life that scared me. We were married and we were trying. I shouldn't be too hard on her, I don't know what it was like for her to wake up and have your wife not remember anything about the years you spent together. I'm so thankful that we've gotten through the hump in the road and can now be civil with each other. Although I don't know how civil we can be now? We promised that we would salvage this friendship. How do you behave around someone that you know you're falling in love with? And how does Quinn feel about all this? I haven't had the courage to tell her. I'm trying to give her space that I know she needs and deserves, but it's hard when all I want to do is talk to her and be near her. I can feel her pulling away sometimes, when I smile a little too brightly, probably with the adorable twinkle in my eyes like the adorable person that I am. Quinn smiles at me for a second and her guard is up, as though she's afraid to get too close and have her heart shattered again. _

_So, it's sad that feeling sad is so rare. It's sad too, that feeling happy is so frightening. It only means wanting to feel happier. The only way to do that was to be with Quinn. And in the end I only caused her pain. I guess it's better to feel sad?_

The first thing Rachel did when she entered the apartment was pick up her phone and sat cross-legged on the kitchen table, under the poster of _Funny Girl_. The table was her favorite piece of furniture, it was wide and capable of allowing her to spread the newspaper across it in the morning and enough space for stationary to be sprawled alongside. She also loves it because Quinn had told her that they chose it together when they walked passed a yard sale. It was exciting hearing Quinn tell her stories of the domestic side to their relationship.

Make the call, she told herself. Don't be such a coward, Rachel. Her fingers flicked across the touchpad, then abruptly it rung and her internal organs almost jumped out of her skin.

"Hello?" Rachel said. Pulse racing once again.

"Rachel?" It wasn't Quinn.

"Shelby?"

"Yes. Hi, how are you?"

"I'm—good. Why—"

"Oh," Shelby's voice dropped a few octaves. "I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to call you. Your fathers have told me about the accident, but I've been in Jamaica for the past few months—"

"Jamaica? What are you doing over there?"

"I've gotten a job offer. You don't remember... I'm sorry about your memories. They also told me to give you some space and one thing led to another and I just haven't had the time."

"It's okay."

Rachel tried to be social, like you usually do when you talk to the woman who gave birth to you. Shelby seemed genuinely interested in her health and her life and career. Then Shelby was saying, It was really good to hear your voice, I can't wait to see you in the play. When do you come back, Rachel heard herself asking, and Shelby said, In a few weeks, I'll call you and we can catch up. They said goodbye and suddenly they've caught up on each other's lives. A fifteen minute conversation. That was all it took.

The knock on the door made her jump. Then another knock came three seconds later. Followed by more knocking. She opened the door intended to yell at the impatient individual, but it died in her throat when Quinn leaned against the door frame and smiled that huge, lazy smile. She held up a bottle of champagne and pushed passed Rachel. Rachel's heart skipped a beat. Her head was saying, Oh god, it's Quinn, act normal, act normal. She could feel her whole face flush red. Falling in love with Quinn Fabray was extremely dangerous.

"Why did you knock?" Rachel asked, watching Quinn take out two glasses and pouring the champagne.

"This is your place now." She threw her set of keys on the kitchen table. It flew across the wood and fell to the floor.

Rachel wasn't sure whether she should read into that. Quinn handed her a glass and their fingertips brushed and her body did a little dance. "Quinn, you know—"

"Let's call it a truce, Rachel." Quinn stumbled backwards while looking for a chair.

"Are you drunk?"

"Not as drunk as I would like to be." She gave up on the chair and went to the couch instead.

"Quinn, if this is about today—"

Quinn held up her hand. Her voice was cold and distant. "I don't want to talk about today. Let's just drink." She leaned back and turned on the television.

They both stared straight ahead while sitting on the couch. Quinn drank most of the champagne and refused to meet her eye. She was aware of Quinn's bitterness, she was aware of Quinn's contempt. She could hear Quinn huffing and sighing loudly from time to time. She saw the look of sorrow in Quinn's eyes when the decision was made and the papers were sighed. Rachel felt squashed, hopeless. Everything else was a blur. There was nothing but the hum of the television and the awkward silence between them. They both knew it was over. But still, Rachel hoped for a miracle.

"Let's play a game, Quinn."

"What game?"

"The Berry-Fabray question game."

Quinn said nothing. Her eyebrows rose then lowered again, her features contorted as though trying to find a way to cry and smile at the same time.

"Why did you give me the apartment?" Rachel asked.

"Because I can." She walked over to the window, her back towards Rachel.

"That wasn't the agreement."

"I was being nice. Just take it, will you?"

"Where are you going to stay?"

"I'll find some place. I do have money."

"That's not what I was referring to. You have more memories here than I do, you should be the one to stay here."

"Rachel, I don't want to talk about this." Quinn mumbled at the window pane.

Rachel was standing now. "You never want to talk about anything when it gets too emotional. Am I supposed to just sit around and wait until you're ready?"

"Yes! That's how a conversation works. When two people want to discuss it."

"Why are you sulking? You said to me you wanted the divorce. We talked about this for two weeks and not once did you stop it!"

"I wanted you to stop it. I wanted you to tell me you didn't want the divorce!" Still, Quinn didn't turn away from the window and Rachel was getting tired of talking to the back of her perfect, blonde head.

"Quinn, look at me."

She did so, petulantly, her arms crossed high over her chest, and Rachel couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" Quinn asked, indignantly.

"I didn't stop it because I agree with you."

"So you're happy that we got the divorce?"

"No, I want to give us a proper chance."

Quinn said nothing for a moment, then turned back to the window.

More conciliatory, Rachel said, "We can pretend all we want, Quinn, the point of the matter is, it would never last. We're still recovering emotionally. You're dealing with your wife losing five years of her life and trying to put the pieces back together. You're going to get frustrated with me when I don't remember something. I'm trying to take it one day at a time, starting all over again."

There was a spark in Quinn's eyes when she turned back around to face Rachel, a look of dark satisfaction. She closed the gap between them and kissed Rachel—hard, aggressive; her anger and grief and love in every stroke of her tongue along Rachel's, willing the other girl to feel it. Quinn moaned loudly, pushing Rachel backwards toward their bedroom, straddled her hips, running her hand along the bottom of Rachel's dress. It wasn't long before they were both naked, Rachel sat up to push Quinn onto her back, that earned a yelp of surprise from Quinn, but it soon turned into a moan when Rachel bit down on her neck.

Rachel's questions turned into moans, her thoughts turned into sparks of acuteness. Quinn's hands moved with merciless intensity, her kisses overwhelmed Rachel in a haze of pleasure. She wasn't able to appreciate or question the memory of the two of them staring at each other's naked bodies for the first time in Rachel's bedroom. Quinn's fingers were in her, the aching impact of release stretched and elongated, swelling outward, and then dissolved on a shiver as she cried out sharply, curling against Quinn. Quinn followed within seconds, head back, tendons straining, a low grown squeezed from her throat.

They fell asleep intertwined like the roots of a tree. There was no space left between them. When Rachel woke, Quinn's eyes were already opened, and her mouth curved in a smile that made Rachel shiver with pleasure.

She glanced at the clock on the bedside table to see 7:37 blinking back at her. At first she thought it was morning, but one brief peek at the window told her the sun was setting. "What does this mean?" Rachel asked the all-important question.

"I don't know." And she knew it was the most honest thing Quinn's ever said to her.

Somehow, that gave Rachel the confidence to finally say it, "Quinn, I lo—"

The knock at the door stopped the words from tumbling out. It wasn't a knock, it was a piercing rapt, almost deafening. She wrapped the comforter around her and stormed down the hall, ready to yell for the interruption but once again, it died in her throat at Finn's appearance. He was holding a bundle of flowers, smiling childishly. He was clean shaven, and she caught the hint of peppery spice in the fragrance. He stood back from the door, looking at her up and down.

"Rach, who is it?" Quinn appeared from the hallway in nothing but an oversize t-shirt. Finn's smile faded.

Rachel could sense the scale of the catastrophe that was looming. Her body temperature fluctuated wildly. Her veins felt like they were going to burst. Everything was uncoordinated and her body went limp. It was like a message, a coming together of circumstances—that slide into darkness.

_Oh, I forgot to mention Finn came to visit me. I probably should have done that earlier. Seeing Finn was familiar. His eyes expressed a momentary confusion at seeing us together, but he smiled nonetheless and handed me the flowers. He congratulated me on my play and gave me a piece of paper with his address on it. He was going to be in New York for a few days. _

_How do I describe this? Now I felt like I was balancing on the edge of a cliff in a thick fog. I have no clear notion of what lay in front; my arms and legs were all flailing. I no longer knew what I thought about Quinn and me. Finn's presence brought back the sensation of an unfinished love. It's true that I haven't thought about him in weeks, we've texted a few times, but with the wedding, and my play and trying to get my life together, we didn't have time to have a proper conversation. On top of that, Quinn was in my life a lot of the time, and I was/am trying to adjust to her being in my life._

_This is my conclusion. I do love Quinn. I am in love with her. But I am also in love with Finn. _

Something was beginning to give for Quinn. A seismograph in New York feels the distant rumbling of a profound rupture in the earth's crust a thousand kilometers away, beneath the ocean floor. In the same way, through all the distance that's been laid between them, Rachel was registering a flutter of discontent. God only knows what that flutter was like inside of Quinn. A deafening upheavel, Rachel supposed. She was sure she loved Quinn, but it seemed that no matter how hard she tried, the loss of her memories will always affect them in the worse possible ways.

"Are you still in love with him?" Quinn let out a breath, she was leaning against the wall in jeans and a red t-shirt. She looked vivid and vital against the white paint.

"Yes." Rachel said softly. "But I—I'm also in love with you."

Quinn dropped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "I've waited five months to hear you say that."

For a long moment Rachel didn't say anything, not trusting herself to do so without betraying the tears just below the surface of her chin. She wanted to go to Quinn and hold her—just hold her—but she didn't move from the bed.

A sudden tightness came over Quinn's face, and she opened her eyes to meet Rachel's with a piercing intensity. "I'm going to get all my things out tomorrow. We shouldn't see each other for a while."

"What are you trying to say, Quinn?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "All I know is that I'm feeling like I shouldn't be around anybody right now, not even you."

A chill stole over her. "It's a lot easier for you to be alone and push people away, isn't it?"

A muscle in Quinn's jaw flexed. "You're still in love with him, Rachel! How do you expect me to deal with it?"

"Like a normal human being! You said you weren't going to disappear—"

"That was before I found out you still loved—"

"Oh, so that's it, Quinn, you're going to run away again? Why did you come back in the first place? Why did you make a toast that day at Brittana's wedding to be friends and for the future? Why even bother coming back if all you're going to do is leave?"

Quinn said nothing. Rachel figured she had found her Achilles heel. Rachel pushed herself off the bed, and as she walked toward Quinn, a look of unease crossed her face.

"I love you, Quinn." She moved even closer, brushing their bodies together. "I know that now. I didn't know it five months ago. I want you to stay and try to understand from my perspective, then we can figure this out together."

_I came home four days ago and found the apartment close to empty. Quinn left a box of memories on the bed. It had my diaries, letters and poems I had written to her, photo albums. I thought the pile I had in my room in Lima was a lot, but this was extreme. Sixteen year old me must have been crazy. I must have just been crazy about Quinn. I didn't know where she got it from, I've searched the apartment high and low many times. She must have kept it in storage somewhere. She did leave me a note though: You have to decide. _

_Here's the thing that frustrates me and no one seems to want to understand from my perspective. The first time I woke up from the coma I thought it was 2010, therefore, I am sixteen. The last memory I had it was Christmas and Finn and I had broken up because I kissed Noah. Quinn wasn't in my life back then, she was an acquaintance. I was jealous of her beauty and elegance and the fact she could have anyone she wanted but chose Finn time and time again. No one seems to understand that it was 2010 when I fell asleep, and woke up Christmas of 2015. It's like being kept frozen for years and waking up to a future where there are robots and blade runners and hovering cars. Not only that, but it's like life continued on without you having any knowledge of doing so. My life forwarded five years. How do you adjust to that? And to hear that you're married to your mortal enemy who has teased and ridiculed you for years? It's a lot to take in. I can't just forget all my previous feelings, I can't just let it all go as much as I want to and I really do. I want to forget about my past and 2010, I want to remember the times I spent with Quinn and how in love I was with her. I've seen the photos. I've read the letters and my diary entries. I want that back. _

_Then there's Finn. So sweet and so kind. His boyish charm. To me, it's not 2016, it's 2011. I have difficulty distinguishing between the two. I have to carry a calendar everywhere I go just to remind myself what year it is. I hate that no one understands. I hate that Quinn thinks it's so easy to just fall out of love with someone. Yes, I love her but it doesn't mean that Finn isn't important to me. The last thing I remember was him being my whole life. Something happened to make me fall out of love with him, why did I fall out of love with him? Why does everyone hate him? What was so bad that happened? Nothing in my diary entries states anything regarding this situation. I've made it my personal mission to find the sole reason, maybe then I can finally move on. _

_I've asked myself so many questions in the past few days. How do I do this? How do I choose? Who is best for me? Who am I compatible with? Who will look best beside me when I walk down the red carpet? Who would I like to thank when I win my EGOT? __I made a list of pros and cons regarding both Quinn and Finn, and Finn had a lot more pros than Quinn. When those questions did nothing to soothe my worries, I asked myself: Who would I give up my career for._

_I didn't realize my lips were silently shaping the name even before I had finished writing the question. _

_Quinn Fabray._

* * *

><p><strong>So, their first time was shocking. But not everyone's first time is great, right?<strong>

**Note: Poem is not mine.**


	11. Chapter 11

**July 6th, 2016**

Rachel's mission to successfully uncover the truth behind everyone's hatred for Finn has all but failed miserably—until now.

She has tried the _remain patient_ approach, whereby she'd ask her friends the all-important question: What happened in high school with Finn. They would act confident and casual as though they have been waiting for her to ask them this question since the fall-out of her memories. But as to giving her an answer? They refused and she couldn't comprehend why. She noticed the way they licked their lips, and the way their voice would come out croaky or high-pitched a few times when avoiding answering the question. Not only that, but _every one_ of her friends reacted the same way to the point she recognized the action immediately and knew as soon as they uttered—Oh Rachel, what are you talking about?—she was not going to get her answer.

Next, she tried the _manipulating_ approach, whereby she uses her immense acting skills and the horrific loss of her memories to her advantage. However, it proved to be a disadvantage. Her friends were extremely nervous and weren't doing a decent job of hiding their emotions either. It was as though they held a secret meeting and practiced their emotions till each and every one was identical to the next. They would act frantically and create jokes which were not worth retelling, or remembering.

Her patience was running out, as it often does when one tries to accomplish an important mission that does not seem to be garnishing any results.

"Rachel, you can't keep us here all night." Kurt said from his position on the far end of the couch.

"Yeah, Rachel, we have to work as well." Mercedes agreed.

"Berry, come on. This is ridiculous!" Santana paced around the living room. Stomping more like it.

"I have a gig in two hours," Puck swung his guitar on his back. "I need to leave now."

"Rachel, we've been here for three hours. Lord Tubbington needs his nightly cuddles before he can go to sleep." Brittany reasoned.

The scene wasn't unpleasant but it wasn't relaxed either. Rachel was sitting in front of the door on a chair, legs and arms crossed. Her five friends on one end of the living room, twiddling their thumbs, mumbling curse words and annoyance on their faces. They looked at her like she was a piece of meat in a cage, waiting to pounce once the bars were lifted. They all just wanted to get back to their lives: Rachel to rehearsing for her play; Kurt to designing his new project for Louis Vuitton; Mercedes to her recording and song writing; Santana to preparing for her mid-terms and whatever else she does in her spare time; Puck to serenading women in clubs; Brittany to Lord Tubbington. Rachel wanted an answer to which her friends have continued to avoid. She could not fathom why, even in a time like this.

"It's been eight days," Rachel began. "I have interrogated every one of you, that includes Tina and Mike and Artie—"

"Who were smart enough to see pass your manipulation." Santana said with a groan.

"Nevertheless, you are all here, and have been for hours. I don't understand why you can't tell me what I want to hear and this will all be over?"

"You're acting like we're on _Law & Order_." Santana snapped.

Mercedes said in a calmer manner, "Rachel, we can't tell you because we promised Quinn we wouldn't."

"And I have called Quinn several times today. She's not answering her phone!"

Kurt threw the magazine he had been reading onto the coffee table. "That's it, Rachel. I need to get out of here. It's almost nine, and Blaine is about to call the police regarding my disappearance."

The conversation sped up for a few minutes, and they were all arguing at once. Probably only Brittany was genuinely emotionally controlled during this whole fiasco, as opposed to edgy, like the rest of them. Puck was rummaging through Rachel's liquor cabinet and poured himself a large glass of whiskey. Agitation was evident. Rachel remained in her position, watching the entire process play out.

When the knock on the door came, the shouting stopped and Rachel was relieved to see Quinn. She walked right in, dropped her bag on the table and swiftly made her way over to Puck and gulped down the remaining whiskey in his glass. She had hoped that Quinn's appearance would lift away the dimness and the chill, but it only seemed to escalate it.

"Finally, where the hell have you been?" Santana said to Quinn.

"Working." She answered softly, glaring at Rachel.

"Well, we _all_ have better things. Rachel is your problem, Quinn." Santana recoiled once the words left her lips, but didn't apologize. "Fuck, I have a mid-term to study for. I'm out of here."

"Me too!" Mercedes exclaimed, jumping up, straightening her clothes.

Brittany followed Santana out the door, not before throwing her arms around Rachel and squeezing her in a tight hug. Kurt and Mercedes kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye. Puck shook her hand limply and stared at her for a few seconds, then took her around the waist. She was surprised. It seemed like it was a 'good luck' hug rather than 'goodbye'. Once the door was closed, Rachel stood staring at Quinn from across the room. She was afraid what Quinn thought of her, where her sympathies lay. She dreaded the argument ahead.

Quinn walked to the couch and sat with her arms crossed. "You had no right to hold them hostage, Rachel."

"I was not holding them hostage. It was only a few hours."

Quinn hesitated for a moment. "You were being selfish. It's a weekday, Rach, they have a life to get back to."

Rachel had her hands on her hips, her expression unamused. "Please, Quinn, you're making it seem as though I had trapped them in here for days."

"Rachel." Quinn just said her name. There was an urgency and a potency to it.

She remained calm, but she could feel the tremor of sweat in her hands. "I want to know, Quinn. I want to know what happened. Then I want to know why you told our friends to not say anything to me."

Quinn groaned at the statement and rubbed her temples, seemingly unable to formulate a response.

Rachel resumed her position on the chair in front of the door. "You're not leaving until you tell me."

**•••**

**January 29th, 2012**

_Length: 16 days._

_Attempts: 9 times._

Rachel stared blankly at the piece of paper in her hands. She bit her bottom lip warily and with slow strokes of her pen, she scribbled,

_Orgasms: 0._

She looked up when Brittany entered the empty classroom. Her face expressed uncomplicated adoration and pleasure. She pulled out a chair and sat across from Rachel, the pile of magazines on the table between them. _Playboy, Penthouse, Ralph, _and _Lesbiana._ Rachel glanced at them nervously, then around the room self-consciously to make sure that they were indeed alone, and then back at Brittany who did not seem affected. Brittany grabbed one of the magazines and began flicking through them. She opened to a page where an anatomically ludicrous woman was writhing on a kitchen floor, naked, disinfectants and cleaning agents scattered around her. Rachel expressed a giggle and covered her mouth instantly.

"Are you ready?" Brittany asked.

"No."

"I bet Quinn is hot naked."

She opened her mouth in agreement but all that escaped was a tiny squeak.

Brittany pushed the magazine titled, _Lesbiana_ toward Rachel. "Have a flip through it, Rach. How will you learn if you don't know the female body parts?"

"I know about them. I just—"

"Can't give Quinn an orgasm?"

She sighed heavily and rested her forehead on the table. "I haven't a clue why we can't achieve orgasm. Nine times have all ended in failure."

Brittany ran her hands along the length of Rachel's forearm. "You just need a little practice."

"Nine times? How much practice do we need?" Her voice was muffled.

"Come on, Rach, flip through the magazine. I imported that from Brazil for you."

She felt extremely uncomfortable while flipping through _Lesbiana_. She had to hold the magazine to her face in order to hide the flush that was bound to make her look like a tomato. Brittany was humming quietly to herself and she'd say, Ooh Santana would like that; Oh, that looks so amazing if Santana did that to me; I have to show Santana this. Rachel could not get herself to linger on a page of the naked women kissing other women, or doing things she wished she was doing to Quinn, for more than five seconds. It wasn't horrifying; she felt she was betraying Quinn in some way.

She dropped the magazine on the table and looked at Brittany. "This is really uncomfortable."

Brittany did the same. "It's just sex, Rachel."

"If it's just sex then why is it so difficult for Quinn and myself to have orgasms?"

"Maybe you're not doing it right."

"Isn't that why you're here? To teach me how to do it right?"

"Oh, is that what you meant? I didn't know you were into that." Brittany grinned and without warning, she took off her letterman jacket, and before she could attempt to take off her Cheerios top, Rachel said,

"No, Brittany, that's not what I meant at all."

"I can't teach you if I don't show you, Rachel."

"Can't you—explain it to me?"

Brittany pondered this for a moment. "I was so close to tasting your berry."

"My _what_?"

"You know, what you taste like. I think you taste like raspberries. I think Quinn tastes like bacon because—"

At the mention of Quinn's name, Rachel asked, "You didn't tell Quinn that we're having this conversation, did you?"

"Of course not." Brittany said. Rachel let out a sigh of relief and Brittany said, "I told Santana though."

She didn't question it further. Attempting something like this was bound to hit her like a boomerang once it returned. Quinn didn't need to know about this _right now_, and when she does, her anger would dissolve the instant Rachel gives her an orgasm she will never forget. Yes, she thought, I will have loopy Quinn under control.

Rachel returned her attention to Brittany. "I'm not quite understanding what you're referring to when you say _taste_."

"Oh, Rachel, I have a lot to teach you, young Skywalker."

"What's a Skywalker?"

Brittany's face paled, her mouth in a perfect _O_. "After this sex education I'm going to educate you on Star Wars. Now," she motioned for Rachel to begin writing. "What you want to do is, get Quinn as wet as possible—"

"Yes, I have achieved that. What I—nay—_we_ can't seem to achieve is orgasmic release."

Leaning back on the chair, Brittany said, "Have you tasted her Lady Hulk?"

"Her what?!"

"Lady Hulk."

"Is that another sex reference because I am unfamiliar with that term."

"When I taste Santana's Lady Hulk, she screams and shouts a lot and she comes very hard."

Rachel was starting to catch on. "You mean—her, you know, lady parts?"

"Yeah, but I call it Lady Hulk because she turns into the Hulk of Orgasms."

"Right." She began scribbling _taste Quinn's lady parts_. "Slight problem though," she said, "Quinn and I aren't quite at that stage yet. How do I achieve the orgasmic release with my fingers?"

Brittany nodded in understanding, staring at the empty desk behind Rachel and then meeting her gaze. She reached into her bag for a sharpener and a pencil, holding it up between them and inserting the pencil in the hole. "You have to start slow—"

"Brittany, I don't need the visual."

"How will you know how slow or fast to go if I don't show you? How deep you have to push—"

Rachel was beginning to feel the blood rushing to her face. "Um, okay..." She gave Brittany her undivided attention.

Brittany straightened in her position, the pencil and sharpener still between them. "Okay, so," she slowly slid the pencil into the hole of the sharpener. "Slowly..." She takes it out. "Very slow, but not too deep because Quinn's walls need to adjust to your fingers."

"Not too deep." Rachel writes.

"No, writing, Rachel. Watch." Brittany motions the pencil in and out of the hole at a slow pace. "Continue to do so when you feel Quinn getting frustrated. There are a few ways you can tell. Her hips will buck upwards to meet your fingers, her breathing will hitch, and then..." The pencil is moving fasting now. Rachel's eyes are fixated. As disturbing as it is she can't look away. "You move faster, deeper, push in as deep as you can. Quinn, at this point, will be moaning really loud, she'll be screaming your name."

That's a sound I want to hear for the rest of my life. Her eyes still fixated on Brittany's hands moving backwards and forwards. She heard the tiny crack of the pencil led breaking.

"Oops," Brittany stopped to examine the tip. "That's not supposed to happen. If you break your fingers then you're doing something wrong. Or you've got nails and you've broken a nail. That's a huge problem because then the nail will be in Quinn, make sure your nails are short—" her eyes moved down to Rachel's fingers, admiring her short nails. "Yours are perfect."

Rachel does the same. "What's next?"

"Well, you continue to slide your fingers in and out of Quinn, kiss her on the mouth, her neck, all that stuff and she'll be coming on—"

They both looked up when the door flew open and Quinn walked in with Santana. Quinn's face was scrunched up, her eyes wary. Santana on the other hand had bright eyes and seemed extremely enthusiastic. Brittany rushed to her and Santana lifted the taller girl in her arms, but in doing so almost stumbled back, she had to support herself on the frame of the door. It was an act reserved for two people who had not seen each other in a month.

"Coming on my what?" Rachel asked desperately.

"Your fingers, Rachel." Brittany finished.

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Quinn asked.

She finally registered Quinn and Santana's presence. Shock and guilt kicked in, she stood so quick the table tipped over, spilling the magazines around her feet. Sheets of centerfold slid out, Miss January 2011's naked body flopping beside _Playboy_'s 2010 picture of an olive-skinned woman with tattoos on her forearm and a blonde between her legs. Further mortified, she knelt and began stacking the magazines haphazardly on the now straightened table in a pile.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asked, eyeing the pile of magazines in front of Rachel.

"Looking at porn, Berry?" Santana laughed.

"I was not!" She retorted.

Brittany said, "I'm showing Rachel how to give Quinn an orgasm."

Santana almost burst out laughing, completely gleeful. "You have got to be kidding me? This needs to be blogged immediately!"

"It has come to my attention that the school only provides heterosexual intercourse education and I am merely interested in expanding my knowledge on sexual education and since the school does not provide an adequate form of education, i.e (she really did say _i dot_ _e_), homosexual intercourse, I am quite simply asking Brittany to educate me." In her head it sounded intelligent and effectively phrased. In reality, all anyone heard was the word _education_ repeatedly. Nerves. That's what they do to her vocabulary.

Santana was busy typing on her phone and nodded in agreement. "Uh huh. Berry. Crazy. There, it's now on my tumblr." She held up her phone. "All my followers will know Berry is my crazy friend."

Rachel frowned. "Friend?"

The realisation hit and Santana took a step back, a loud chuckle. "Fiend. I meant fiend. You're my crazy fiend!"

"You said friend." Brittany corrected. "I heard because I'm right next to you."

"I did not. I said fiend."

"Quinn, did you hear Santana say friend?" Brittany slapped her palm on Quinn's shoulder, startling her. "Oh, Quinn's still in shock mode from finding out Rachel was learning about orgasms. We should go, Santana, Quinn is a time bomb now."

"Yeah, good luck dismantling her, Berry." Santana hoisted her bag onto her shoulder.

"Hey, you can't leave me." Rachel stepped towards them. "Quinn is—"

"Quinn is gay." Santana finished. She and Brittany were out the door and Rachel stood stock still in the arch of the door frame. She turned around slowly,

"Um, Quinn?"

The subject of their sex life has remained largely unspoken, and now there seems to be no way to avoid it. Nine times they've taken it to the next level, but it never got any further than the next _next _level—the level of the orgasms. The subject sits there in the middle of the room like a pink elephant. It's there when they're doing homework, it's there every time they have sex and don't achieve the level. It keeps her awake at night. Sometimes it seems she can chart her life by what she worries about at three in the morning. Once it was maintaining her GPA, then for too long it was boys, then Broadway slash career, then, how to establish a romantic relationship with Quinn. Now it has come to, how to consummate with Quinn.

Rachel closed the door and stepped further into the room. Quinn's back was facing her. "Quinn? I'm sorry..."

Quinn turned around and she felt a buzzing in her head. Quinn was about to speak, but she stopped herself. Rachel saw that she was tense and she wished there was something she could say to eradicate her anger. It was at that moment she decided to get rid of her filter. The filter that reminded her to think before she spoke.

"Our sex life is in jeopardy. I'm not enjoying it and I know that you're not either. I want to enjoy an orgasm, Quinn. A proper one. With your fingers in me. Each time we don't it's frustrating and I can't sleep at night, nor do I wish to take care of it myself because it'll feel like I'm betraying you."

Quinn didn't reply. It was like an advertisement: her girlfriend, in a Cheerios uniform, the perfect cheerleader, in the middle of an empty classroom with the sun's rays eliciting her beauty.

Rachel reached up to touch Quinn's hair. "Can you say something, please?"

"You are so embarrassing." She mumbled, her voice hoarse and dry.

Rachel's body gradually relaxed. She had expected Quinn to shout. "Oh good, you're not mad."

"I am mad, Rachel."

She jinxed it. The bomb is now exploding.

Quinn continued. "Are you crazy? Actually, you're insane. Absolutely insane. I've never met anyone as insane as you. God, you do my head in."

I'd like to _do_ you, she thought and shook it out of her head immediately.

It was as though Quinn had read her thoughts. "Don't even think about it, Rachel. I'm so mad at you and you're thinking about sex."

"We've been trying and it's been a failure—"

"People don't _try_ to have sex. People _try_ to have babies."

"Either way, whatever we're doing isn't sex and I was seeking advice from a friend."

"A friend who's also dating Santana who has the biggest mouth in the entire school!"

"Santana won't say anything. She's kept our relationship a secret."

"That's not going to stop her from making fun of me for the rest of my life."

"Oh, it's about you, Quinn? Your ego is at stake and that's all that matters—"

"Damn it, Rachel—"

With no more warning than that, Quinn jerked Rachel into the hardness of her body, their lips instantly slanting together. Quinn's tongue was in her mouth, deep and probing. Rachel moaned at the pleasure of it, at the heady flavor of Quinn, and sank deeper into her embrace. She didn't protest, though she knew she should have. She tangled her tongue around Quinn's, her hands running through soft, blonde hair. Quinn's arms wrapped around her, her palms splayed out over Rachel's back and dipped lower... and lower... sliding under her skirt. Rachel spread her legs for better contact. Even through Quinn's clothing, she could feel the other girl's arousal.

Rachel had wanted to do this the moment Quinn entered the classroom; Quinn was intoxicating, creating a kind of aphrodisiac. With hands still underneath her skirt, Quinn lifted her onto the table. She wrapped her legs around Quinn's waist, tongue meeting tongue. Her nipples pebbled, and she rubbed them against Quinn's chest, wishing they were naked already, wishing Quinn was inside her. Quinn reached up to palm one of her breasts, tracing her fingertips around the nipple.

"You drive me crazy." Quinn whispered huskily along the column of her neck.

Rachel didn't comment. She was incapable of speech. All she could think about was stripping Quinn naked and taking her right there in the classroom. Multiple times.

"It's that mouth of yours," she continued. She nipped at Rachel's jaw, ran her teeth along Rachel's earlobe. "I _hate_ it. I _should_ hate it."

As Rachel panted, she forced herself to find her voice. "Do you like my mouth better when it tells you to kiss me again?" She said rawly. "When it tells you to take off your clothes because I want to do explicit activities to your body?"

Quinn groaned, but instead of stripping her, she whipped away. Rachel's legs dropped, dangling above the table. "I hate—"

"Hate is a strong word, Quinn. Try _love_."

"This isn't the place." Quinn growled, tangling a hand through her hair.

Several seconds passed before she found her equilibrium. When she did, she resented Quinn's ability to stop what she'd started when she herself would have so eagerly gone the rest of the way. She huffed indignantly. "Fine. We'll continue this on the weekend."

Quinn remained silent for a long while, studying her face. Obviously she had said something wrong. "I meant—at home. Your home."

Dear Jesus, if you allow Quinn and I to finally consummate I will convert to Christianity—was the last coherent sentence she said for the rest of the day.

For the remainder, she uttered words such as, _God_ and _Quinn_ and _Please _and _Harder _and _Yes_ and _More_, in-between a lot of heavy breaths and moans.

**•••**

**February 5th, 2012**

Rachel grazed her hands over Quinn's hips and the tops of her thighs, and Quinn gripped headboard when Rachel's tongue touched her sensitive flesh. Her breathing escalated to gasps and she struggled to keep her hips steady; it thrust forward involuntarily to increase the contact with Rachel's very proficient tongue. Rachel opened her eyes and was met with Quinn's probing gaze, and then Quinn's head fell back when Rachel's tongue darted forward again and again, it was slow, steady and firm. Rachel had lost count of how many times Quinn has moaned and cried out her name.

When Rachel could feel Quinn's pleasure building, she stopped and looked up, only to laugh when the other girl grunted her disappointment, but then gasped anew when Rachel resumed caressing her with her tongue, spearing it before pulling it out again. Quinn's body had another automatic response to this and widened her thighs, one leg over Rachel's shoulder.

Quinn thrashed her head back and forth and her whole body writhed underneath Rachel's attention. It was quite amazing how much movement she could manage, while being bound beneath Rachel's hands do tightly. Her thighs began to clinch and Rachel could sense the hot tingling that began in the pit of Quinn's stomach, causing her breathing to almost hyperventilate, and in an instant, Quinn was at the brink of insanity.

Quinn fell breathless back onto the bed, and she looked at Rachel in shock and whimpered without meaning to. All Rachel could do was lay next to her, wiping her hair away from her face, kiss her cheeks, her nose and blush when Quinn pulled her into an embrace.

"Ready for round two?" Quinn smirked.

"You have got to be kidding me, Quinn! We have school in an hour and I'm still recovering from yesterday. Have I not worn you out enough?"

"Obviously, not."

"Let me catch my breath for a minute."

Something new she has discovered about Quinn Fabray: she has the stamina of a fourteen year old boy. Sometimes she has trouble distinguishing whether Quinn was a _he_ or a _she_, and then Quinn would be naked and writhing beneath her and all thoughts were out the window.

They haven't stopped in seven days. Seven days of heaven. No, heavenly pleasure. Seven days of hearing Quinn endlessly moan and breathe out her name. There were moments when Quinn was gentle with her, and rough too, in a playful way that she liked. Waking up to a naked Quinn Fabray has become one of the highlights of her days. They didn't necessarily wake up together in the mornings (Judy did not allow Quinn to sleep over), usually in the afternoon once they've copulated each other's bodies till the point of exhaustion; it often led to falling asleep tangled together. And she says _copulate_ in the most conventional sense because their intimacy was no longer _lovemaking_, but a carnal act of desperate want and need. Also, love.

"You know," Rachel said, finally able to talk. "We could really give Brittany and Santana a run for their money with the way we're going."

Quinn moved over her, the heat of Quinn's body blanketing over her own. Her fingers playing with Rachel's desire, making her squirm and arch her hips. Quinn bent, her mouth brushing over Rachel's, and whispered, "You're mine."

A sharp thrill shot through her at the Quinn's husky words, and it stunned her that such a primitive possessiveness could arouse her. Quinn murmured something else but Rachel couldn't make out the words, and then she moved to Rachel's breasts, kissing and teasing the nipple until she nearly came from the pleasure of that alone.

"Quinn, please." She whispered.

Sensing how close she was to the edge, Quinn pulled back and kissed her mouth—a deep and devouring kiss. Her mouth still over Rachel's, she slipped her hand lower, eased her legs further apart, and touched her. Slowly, she dipped her finger into Rachel, all the while bucking her hips, matching the rhythm. Rachel gasped for breath when Quinn continued to touch the sensitive spot, causing the waves to radiate into larger and larger circles until they encompassed her entire body. Suddenly at once, Quinn's rhythm changed, from slow, teasing strokes to fast and forceful. Quinn resumed kissing her lips, eyelids, neck, every part of her body within the blonde's reach. They moved their bodies in rhythm with each other, anything to bring an end to the exquisite agony.

Spent, Quinn slumped against her, the heated dampness of her perspiration-sheened skin filling Rachel's senses.

The door to her room flew open without warning. Quinn fumbled with the comforter to cover their bodies, and in the process slipped over to the side of the bed, hitting her head on the bedside table, as Rachel covered herself by pulling the sheet up to her neck.

"Oh my god!" Hiram proclaimed as he shut the door instantly.

Quinn had no time to be embarrassed as she threw on her clothes. Rachel could see the distress on her features. "Why does this keep happening?"

"Rachel, downstairs, now!" Hiram yelled through the door.

"Are you okay?" Rachel whispered, indicating to the hit on Quinn's head.

"Rachel!" Hiram repeated.

"Coming, dad. I shall see you downstairs."

"Quinn also!"

"Okay!"

"You have five minutes."

"But I need to shower."

"You better shower quickly then. I'm timing you."

After what she deemed as the quickest shower of her short life—three whole minutes—she found Quinn completely dressed in her Cheerios uniform, hair in a pony-tail, sitting on the edge of her bed, twiddling her thumbs. Rachel had made the mistake of showering with an untested bottle of Body Shop strawberry gel and was painfully aware of smelling like a fruit yoghurt. She badly wanted to go and rinse it off, but didn't dare to disobey her fathers, nor did she want to leave Quinn alone with them. The girl was stricken with embarrassment.

Rachel crossed the room and reached under her bed for a discarded sock. She pecked Quinn lightly on the cheek out of habit. "We should go."

Quinn perched uneasily on the bedpost, speaking in a strained, chipper tone as she watched Rachel pull on her socks. "I'm not looking forward to hearing about a new set of rules being put in place."

"We had fun while it lasted." She teased.

Quinn laughed, a low morning growl that caught at the back of her throat, and there was something so gratifying about her smile, the two deep parentheses in the corners of her mouth, the way she kept her lips tightly closed as if holding something back. "Why aren't you worried?"

She gave Quinn her most amiable smile. "Well, it's now seven-thirty and there'll be no time for—" She made quotation marks with her index and middle fingers on each hand. "—the talk. Assuming my fathers don't want us to be late for school, this conversation will be postponed until this afternoon and thus will guarantee me quality time to prepare my argument."

"Argument for what?"

"Why we are perfect for each other."

"They're going to make you stop seeing me?"

"No, but we have to be prepared for every possible scenario."

They reached the top of the staircase, bags in hand, and Rachel said, "Tell me you love me."

"Kinda not feeling it right now." Quinn said.

"Quinn!"

"I love you." Quinn said, brightening a little.

Quinn's eyes flickered towards her, and Rachel thought she might very easily lean across and kiss her, then take her back into her bedroom, lock the door and never return to civilization. That's what Rachel really wanted to do, that's all she'd want to do for the rest of her life. But it was too late now. It was time to face her parents.

A minute later, they reached the bottom of the stairs, her fathers sitting with stern expressions and their arms folded. Rachel could feel the enthusiasm she had possessed all morning starting to slip away. "Fathers, if I may—"

"No, you may not," Leroy interjected. He directed his question to Quinn, "How did you sneak in without waking us up?"

"She sneaked through my window this morning." Rachel said.

"How did you climb up?" Leroy asked.

"She climbed up the tree." Rachel said.

"Does your mom know you're here, Quinn?"

"No, she does not and we wish that you support us by not telling her know." Again, it was Rachel.

Leroy said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have gotten my daughter and her girlfriend mixed up because my daughter seems to be speaking when the question isn't directed at her."

"We must leave for school. You don't want us to be tardy, do you? I thrive on punctuality." Rachel said.

"You can be late for one day." Leroy said.

"That's blasphemy." She said, stomping her foot. "When have you known me to be tardy?"

"Today," Hiram interrupted, standing from the kitchen table. "I know you're trying to postpone this conversation, Rachel. It's going to happen—"

"It can happen this afternoon." She reached for Quinn's hand. "We bid you farewell."

"Rachel." Hiram called out.

Quinn was being pulled out the door and only managed a quick wave and a tiny smile. Rachel was privately mortified at the rate in which parental love evaporates, to be replaced by small parental dislike. Last night, the three Berrys had spent a quiet evening in front of the television, and now they were like strangers in a bus queue. She had never disobeyed them before. Perhaps that one time she allowed the glee kids to drink at her house, to which they have yet to find out, and what they don't know won't hurt them.

"I'm in so much trouble." Rachel said, closing the car door.

"You didn't have to rush out of there like that." Quinn's hand was trembling, she was finding it difficult to put the key in the ignition.

Rachel was starting to wonder whether they were cursed. First Quinn's mom, now her dads. What's next, the entire school? No, Rachel, do not think such things. There was such a rush of blood to her throbbing temples. Despite the incident, she wasn't looking forward to the conversation she was bound to have with her fathers after school. Nevertheless, the devastation was behind them and she concentrated on the day ahead.

She watched Quinn drive silently, she seemed transported, elsewhere, another. A slight grin on her face. "What are you grinning about?"

Quinn glanced at her for a second. "I think we're cursed."

"At least this way we won't have to have the awkward conversation of sitting down and coming out to them."

"Instead they caught us in the act and we have no choice but to come out."

"It could've been worse."

"Like what?"

"Seeing me to down on you. We're lucky they only saw above our waists."

Quinn bit on her bottom lip before saying, "Good point."

Making their way to school, Rachel contemplated a few things. Everything had changed so rapidly since she embarked on a relationship with Quinn it was hard to believe it was real. At any given moment she has no idea what's going to happen. This should mean nothing comes as a surprise, and yet everything that's happened was unexpected. She feels lightness and hysteria, a giddiness that seems boundless. Their love was infinite. All that she knew was this world of bliss, the world of never wanting this feeling to end. They were, as people say, as one.

"I love you." Rachel said suddenly, when Quinn pulled up to the school.

Quinn leaned over the gearshift and kissed her. "Did you do something wrong?"

"No. Why?"

"No reason," she shrugged. "That was just random."

"Am I not allow to tell you I love you?"

"Not with that attitude I won't accept it."

Rachel stuck her tongue out and opened the door. "You're really not funny, Quinn."

Quinn followed suit. "I think I'm very funny, actually."

When they stepped into the school a remarkable change occurred. They walked down the hall in a curious vacuum. It was no longer rare that Rachel was seen with Quinn, even Santana or Brittany for that matter, everyone ignored it most days. All hell broke loose today. Everyone was staring at them, some eyes slid away furtively, others stared for long periods, muttering to whomever was in talking distance, or some suddenly became very busy doing something that required their backs to Rachel and Quinn. But one thing had remained constant in their peers: the whispers. Rachel couldn't catch most of the muttered words, but there were distinct words such as _homo_ and _unbelievable_.

Quinn must have noticed it too, because once they reached her locker and she retrieved her books, she slammed it shut and glanced around, her eyes dangerous and alert. Rachel gazed around in awe, while the surging crowd edged nearer. She had become used to attention, everyone ridiculed her clothing, her enormous talent, but it has never been anything like this. Air was rushing in and out of her windpipe. A hundred pair of eyes were on them now, the sensation was thrilling; for a moment it was thrilling, and then the moment passed and she was terrified. Their hostile noises were gathering force, drowning out all other thoughts.

A jock passed by, taking in Quinn's flinching eyes and he hissed, "I didn't know you were gay for Berry, Fabray."

Then someone else said, "The Cheerio is a lesbo."

Someone else said, "Wasn't being pregnant enough, now you have to be a lesbian too."

Another voice, "I give you both permission to make-out like this in my bedroom."

Rachel caught a hold of the piece of paper he threw in her face. Now, she had to get out of here. Something terrible was about to happen. There was a cramping sensation low in her abdomen and a throbbing in her head like some maniac was twisting a dial in her brain. She could hardly run, like in dreams where your limbs won't move. This has to be a dream, she repeated. That's the only plausible explanation.

Quinn grasped Rachel's arm in a parrot claw, pulling her down the hall and they vanished into the bathroom. Quinn kicked down all the stalls to make sure they were alone. Her rage evident in those kicks. Rachel's head and neck throbbed; even her teeth seemed to ring, if that made any sense at all. Her eyes scanned across the paper once more and nothing she saw made any sense: there was a title, _LESBIANS_, a photo of Quinn and herself kissing, a very intimate embrace. If she remembered correctly, this occurred a week ago when she had asked Brittany for help with sex education and Quinn had stumbled into the room, leading to a very heated kissing session.

How?—Rachel thought. Why?—She couldn't take her eyes away from the photo. I'm imagining this.

She blinked to clear her vision but it wouldn't stop: the image was still there, precise and unclouded. She wandered through the glare circling her brain—Santana? No, Santana wouldn't do this. She promised. Brittany? No, Brittany was incapable of such malice. She didn't know how to turn on a computer, she wouldn't know how to use PhotoShop, let alone type. That led back to Santana. Why would Santana do such a thing. Santana had called her a _friend_. And Rachel had hardly seen her in a week, so she couldn't have done anything to have agitated Santana enough to do something like this.

Small drops of water splattered on her hand and she looked across to see Quinn cup water into her hands and splashing it on her face. Rachel saw it, something in Quinn had turned, she'd lost control, and Rachel was now engulfed in pure unmitigated terror.

"Quinn?"

Quinn's eyes flickered. They remained unreadable. "Santana."

"She wouldn't. She promised."

"Promises mean shit to her, Rachel. I knew this was going to happen."

Rachel felt like she was sliding down a hill. "Quinn, please calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! I'm going to kill her when I get my hands on her." Quinn wasn't raising her voice, but the rage was still visible in her eyes.

"You're being unreasonable right now."

"Why are you on her side? She just outed us to the whole school."

"There's no evidence."

"_She's_ the only one that knows, Rachel. Stop being so naïve."

There was a pause. Rachel wanted to cry. Not so much for being outed, but for fear. Fear of what—she didn't know yet. Every thought struck her with unbearable force, pushing her to the edge of sickness. This is too extreme, she thought.

They heard descending footsteps and both turned to look at the door. Santana and Brittany rushed through. Rachel sensed a hurry in their step, an eagerness to get on with this day.

Quinn was the first to move toward them, but Rachel stopped her just as quickly, noticing the desire in her eyes to hit Santana was almost irresistible. "Quinn, don't."

Quinn said through clenched teeth. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Santana remained in her position, head slightly cocked to examine Quinn. "_You_ think _I _did it?"

"You're the only one who knows."

Santana's smile was now patronizing. "You need to get this through your head, Tubbers. It's been five fucking months since you two started getting your disgusting mack on. Why the fuck would I wait five months to out you when I could've done it from the beginning?"

"Because that's _you_, Santana. You wait until your enemy's vulnerable and then you strike. You fight like a coward."

Rage held Santana hostage. "I kicked your ass once, Q, I can do it again."

"You two need to stop arguing!" Brittany's quietness erupted into white rage. "Quinn, Santana didn't do it. We came to find you to make sure that you're both okay."

"What happened?" Rachel heard herself asking.

"I don't know. We came into school this morning and there was that poster everywhere. The glee kids took down most of it but I guess some are still flying around. Coach wasn't too happy, she's looking for you, Quinn."

"This is what I get for caring," Santana said grimly. "And if you haven't noticed—" Her eyes burned into Quinn. "I'm not straight as a pole either. I wouldn't out you without outing myself."

Santana turned and walked away, her pony-tail moving like liquid under the lights. A wistful smile tugged at the corner of Brittany's mouth and she said, "We'll see you in glee."

Quinn picked up her bag, the color had left her face. They both stared, speechless. Quinn looked as if she might faint. "Um," Rachel began, but stopped not knowing what else to say.

"We should get to class. I'll see you later." And then she was gone. And Rachel was standing staring at herself in the mirror. The tears still hadn't come.

The remainder of the day took on a melancholy weight. There were certain aspects she remembered: In biology she had a pleasant and straightforward conversation with Mr. Abbott regarding the process one's body has to go through in order to survive in the wild, and the correct nutritional foods. "Are you planning on living in the wild, Rachel?" He had joked. "No, sir, I was merely wondering." She answered and gathered her books and left. The conversations she had with her friends were ostentatiously light-hearted and don't mention the significance of the day, but the subtext is always the same: "I'm fine." Kurt was over-emotional: "But are you _really_, sweetheart? I mean, _really_? Do you want to come over after school for ice cream?" Irritated, Rachel reassured him, then quickly and politely escaped. Her dads called her at some point, reminding her that she is to be home straight away after school. The students were surprisingly very quiet. They glared at her just the same, except now it was devoid of viciousness and judgement. There's a general sense, as in the school day, that the worst of the storm has passed.

When the day was over, Rachel saw Quinn at her locker, but she didn't run to Quinn as she usually does. For the first time that day she feels a rush of despair and loneliness. The day seemed like a day for grieving, like she had been walking on a frozen river; that danger that she will plunge through if she isn't careful. Now, seeing Quinn out of her Cheerios uniform, she hears the ice crack beneath her, and so intense and panicking is the sensation that she has to stand for a moment, press her hands to her face and catch her breath.

She glanced across at Quinn, currently making her way toward Rachel. "Hey." There was concern in Quinn's voice.

"Why aren't you in your uniform?"

"I got slushied."

"Oh." That was something Rachel had expected, and unexpectedly she didn't receive one. "I haven't seen you all day."

"I've been hiding."

"Are you okay?"

Quinn shrugged.

"It's pretty bad."

"Yeah," Quinn leaned against the row of lockers. "Pretty bad."

"Are you still on the team?"

"Yeah, Sylvester wasn't too please, though."

They stood in silence. Rachel's heart beat loud in her ear. She thought about hugging Quinn, and was stricken by a painful, grinding sense that Quinn had gone away and left her to fend for herself. It was strange what was happening, her muscles her tense, limb by limb, and her stomach contorted in a terrible knot.

Quinn cleared her throat and Rachel braced herself. "Rachel, I—I can't anymore."

Rachel didn't say anything. She held her posture, breaths coming and going in light gasps so Quinn wouldn't be able to hear, while every strand of her body quivered.

"I'm sorry," Quinn said. "Today, all this pressure, the looks, and judgement. I can't."

"You're breaking up with me?" Rachel couldn't recognize her own voice.

"I'm so sorry."

In Quinn's eyes, Rachel saw the damage that was now apparent, like broken glass underwater—obvious, once you knew what to look for. Quinn squeezed her hand, then released it just as quickly, the determination fell from her, leaving a sick, painful look.

"Rachel, I'm sorry." She repeated. Quinn's expression had clarified. There was something she wanted to say, something pushing out from behind her eyes. "Everything escalated today. All these horrible looks and whispers, I felt like I was pregnant, but worse. I'm not ready to come out to the whole school. My mom and your dads, that's different, that's personal. I like to keep my personal life to myself, and now it's everywhere."

Rachel stared at her. The words before them, so gigantic. There seemed no way of approaching it. "Why do you care so much about what people think?"

Anguish and incredulity mingling on her face. "I don't—"

"Then why are you doing this?"

"I don't want people knowing my business—_our_ business. The whole school knows we made-out in room twenty-nine. Do you know what they're calling it? The lesbian infested room."

"So what, Quinn?" Rachel said, disoriented. "Just because they see one picture of us doesn't mean they'll get to see anymore."

"How do you know that? We were careful. We thought there was no one watching us and look at what happened. It's everywhere."

Rachel shook her head. She felt horror, not so much at Quinn breaking up with her, but at Quinn's inability to put Rachel before her reputation. "It's a school, not national television. You're not even going to see any of these people in a couple of months and the ones that you will see aren't going to _care_."

"I care!"

"You care about your reputation more than you care about me."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Quinn cried, sounding short of breath. Rachel waited for further argument, but it was clear Quinn had nothing left to say.

"You said you loved me." She said bitterly.

"Rachel," Quinn pleaded. "I do lo—I do. This is just too much."

Rachel didn't miss the way Quinn stopped herself from saying _love_. She put her hand to her chest, trying to still the violent kicking of her heart. She felt no more urgency, because she now knew—Quinn didn't want to be with her. She was almost afraid to have the conversation end, of Quinn no longer being with her.

"I'm sorry." And then she was gone. Rachel watched as she ran down the hall, out the front doors and her silhouette grew smaller and smaller until she disappeared. Yet, the tears still hadn't come.

Rachel dragged her feet making her way to glee, one foot in the past, one in the present. She felt brittle and dusty, she was close to tears but she couldn't cry. There are times love would seem to be the only word capable of describing the frightening physics of this momentum. There is desolation and then there is each other. It occurred to her that every step she took was moving her away from Quinn.

She stopped in front of the piece of paper which had outed them as a couple, or rather, _lesbians_, hanging on the wall. This was the first she had seen that was on the wall, the glee kids must have missed one. Her eyes racked over it once again on the words and the images. She searched her mind for questions, even answers, but her mind was empty.

Angrily, she reached up to rip it from its spot. She flicked her eyes over it again, and then turned the page. A watermark of a star located in the corner stared back at her. Stars were a metaphor for her being a star. It was her metaphor. It was exactly like the customized papers she had at home, located in the exact location, exactly the same size. She felt light-headed and suddenly cold. It was like a dream. She found herself rummaging through her locker for one of her customized papers to ensure they were one and the same. Then she ran into the choir room. She heard Finn's laughter and she felt rage running through her.

She was silent when Mr. Schue addressed her. "Rachel? Are you okay?"

"Just tired. It's been a long day."

"If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me."

Rachel could not make sense of her emotions. The fury at Finn, the guilt. It felt toxic, she had to try hard to get clean air into her lungs. The day that had started off so perfectly, was spoilt, soiled. She hated herself and she hated Finn.

"Where's Quinn?" Brittany asked when Rachel sat beside her.

"She went home."

Rachel was deliberately silent for the remainder of the lesson, her face hard, but no one seemed to notice. The tears were starting to form. Her eyes moistened and she pinched her palms, determined not to cry. Finn was looking at her with his dopey grin, when he noticed the glare in her eyes he paled, then a deep rose shade, a blush that seeped down to his neck. He let out a weak whistle at something Puck said, like a frightened bird. She wanted to slap him.

Mr. Shue finally ended the lesson. "See you tomorrow everyone."

Rachel stopped in the middle of Finn's path making his way out. Finn looked down at her, his smile was gone. "What's wrong, Rach?"

She couldn't speak. He came up and placed an arm around her shoulder. She punched it away.

"What's wrong with you?"

"It was _you_. You did this!" She threw the now scrunched up paper in his face and it ricocheted off his brainless head and fell to the floor.

Everyone around them stopped their chatter, or whatever they were doing and listened. Santana picked up the paper and examined it. "How do you know it was him?"

"There's a star on the right hand corner. I have a sheaf specifically custom made."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Rach." Finn said.

"It was you. Why would you do this?" She had no doubt about it. He was guilty and he was gutless. He'd lied to her. "You have been the only one who's used my paper. The only one I've given it to!"

"How do you know it wasn't Quinn? She's been in your room."

"Quinn was the victim of this, you idiot!" Rachel screamed. "If you were going to do something as horrible as this at least use _plain_ paper!"

"Dude," Puck said. "Is this true? Are you dumb enough to go and do something like this?"

Finn's face was distraught, panicked. "I—" He glanced around, not daring to catch anyone's eyes. "It wasn't me."

Rachel slapped him then. Her hand swung so hard and fast she didn't even blink. The slap was like a hammer cracking all over his face. Then there's a gap in what she remembers, because it's like coming out of a deep sleep. Finn stumbled back and she went straight for him again. Puck leapt up to restrain her but she shook his hand away. Finn said, "Rachel, calm down I didn't—" and Santana was pushing him away from her when he got closer. Finn was shouting his pleas and asking her to listen but she refused to acknowledge him. When she spoke her voice did not tremble, however, there was no mistaking the fury.

"I hate you right now, Finn! I can't believe you would sabotage my relationship with Quinn. We trusted you to keep this to yourself. I don't want anything to do with you anymore. We're only associated through glee and I'll be civil with you for the sake of glee but that's where I'm drawing the line."

Puck went to say something to her but she had already turned on her heels and walking away from the scene. She was trembling as she made her way down the hall. She had shamed him, she'd seen it in his eyes. She had humiliated him. Good. That was exactly what he deserved. Her mind was still coming to terms that it was Finn; her first friend, her first boyfriend, her first love. She confided and trusted him, and he betrayed her in the worse possible way. She was glad that she didn't cry. She would never forgive him.

When she reached the bus station, she became aware of how tired she was becoming, of how much energy that had taken out of her. It was like the oxygen had been sucked out of the air by a nuclear blast. She was gasping, heaving; she felt she was being strangled. Her adrenalin stocks had been depleted in about thirty seconds. And now, with Kurt somehow by her side, she collapsed in his arms and the tears finally came.

That fear she was worried about earlier; it was the fear of Quinn leaving her.

**•••**

**July 6th, 2016**

Rachel made a prickling sound. She wondered whether she might be sick. She felt herself getting sick. "Finn wouldn't do that."

Quinn fell silent. They were propped on opposite ends of the room; Rachel leaning against the front door and Quinn stood beside the couch, she was watching Rachel sort of goggle-eyed. As Quinn recalled how Finn had outed them to the whole school, the whole thing felt unreal. Rachel was terrified but riveted too, in the grip of something bigger than herself. She felt herself reaching for that time, that calm, sweet place in the future where you laugh at mishaps that so often happened during high school. She knew as soon as she thought it, it was a lost cause. Four years down the track and she hadn't made peace with Finn. Not one of her friends had.

Though Quinn's eyes were wet, she didn't cry. Lifting the story out of herself seemed to require all the energy she had. "It's the truth."

"Why would he do something like that?"

Quinn shrugged, she was worn out. "Jealousy. Who knows what went through his pea brain."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rachel asked.

"What difference would it have made?" Quinn sat on the couch now, her arms folded.

"What do you mean? It makes all the difference."

"I've just told you the story. What difference has it made? Do you feel any different for him?"

In vain, Rachel tried to push her way clear, but her own thoughts seemed faint beside the vast finality of Finn's act. It whirled like a vortex, dragging every part of her, irresistibly toward itself, swallowing her whole. She couldn't breathe. Finn's absence was suddenly fresh to her as if she'd watched him take a photo of them in that room, a rage of jealousy (or whatever emotion he felt in order to do what he did), turned on his computer, uploaded the image and created that poster, printing out tens of copies. Yet in all this time Quinn had been telling her the story, the reality of Finn's act hadn't really touched her. It was cloaked in a gauze, a terrific flash of light that left in its wake a soft orb.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall, 11:28. "I need to talk to him."

"Rachel, are you insane? It's almost midnight."

"I need to hear it from him."

"I'm telling you the truth. Do you honestly think I would make this up? Do you think _all_ of us would disconnect him from our lives for no reason?"

Rachel opened her eyes and stared out the window. The empty sky made a buzzing noise. The very air seemed full of panic, a tingling whiteness. "I want to know why he did it."

"He's an idiot, that's why!"

"I don't believe he's capable of this."

Quinn took a deep breath, falling into a trance-like state as she felt the reality of the situation. "Rachel. Stay with me."

Those words hurt more than Rachel could have expected. The tears began to fall now, but she couldn't speak. Finally, reluctantly, she looked away and walked out the door. She was feeling dizzy from the act alone.

She hauled her muscles along the pavement, carrying her bag clumsily, past the jeering women, past men who wore resemblance to fathers of her childhood friends, finally bursting from the side street onto a wide boulevard where cars and buses drove merrily past and heat shook the air into streamers. Each time she relaxed the world promptly collapsed into shaking particles; a herculean effort was required just to assemble it sufficiently to walk through, foot after foot. When she reached the curb, she had no idea what to do, which signal she was waiting for, everything a gnash of colors and lights and roaring sound. She stood a long time until she sensed a pause around her like held breath and then she was crossing an intersection and she saw the large hotel building she recognized as the one Finn was staying at.

She made her way across the pebbled area, then she stumbled against something hard, a metal garbage can she suspected, and she entered the building, pressed the floor number on the elevator. Just waiting for it was such agony; a terrible force had gathered behind her like tons of water ready to explode through a narrow pipe. She watched the numbers change rapidly—6, 7, 8, 14, 17, 22—she tried to think of Quinn but what filled her mind was the horrible mistake she was making, the mistake of a lifetime.

Finn broke into a wide grin when he saw her. She was surprised he was still in jeans and a t-shirt. She approached him and he embraced her warmly. He smelt of metal and cars, of a life without her. She didn't feel that slip into happiness, the relief of falling into someone's arms.

"I'm sorry to show up here so late." She said apologetically.

"It's okay," he shrugged good-naturedly. "I wasn't doing anything, anyway. Do you want a drink?"

"Water."

Finn poured her a glass of water. "Here you go." He eyed her suspiciously. "Is everything okay?"

She remained silent. She felt overwhelming pity and despair for him. He was interacting with such puzzlement. "Rachel?"

"Did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"In high school, senior year. You made that poster and hung it all over the school that Quinn and I were a couple. You saw us kissing and you took a photo, then you went home and made it yourself, on _my_ paper, no less." Rachel felt her reserve break, split apart.

Finn ignored her but he was blushing. He was ashamed. She watched him flicker his eyes around the room. "Rachel, it wasn't—"

"Just answer the question, Finn. Was it you or not?"

"Yes. I did it."

Sitting there, with the world drifting around them, she understood what kind of life she would've had with Finn. They wouldn't rise up into the sky like she'd always hoped, the real thing was existing day by day, pay the rent, read the paper. Her career would come first—there was no question about it. To only exist. It felt like a revelation.

He reached for her hand. "Rachel, I'm sorry. I know it means nothing now, I was a stupid kid back then."

"Why?"

"I love you. I tried to explain it in high school but you wouldn't listen to me. We were civil for glee's sake and I approached you whenever I could but Quinn was always there and you always went back to her."

"It was about Quinn?" She gave a humorless laugh.

"No, it was about making you realize Quinn isn't the one for you."

"Finn, it's been years. Why haven't you moved on?"

He shrugged and took his hand away. "I can't. I've tried to. I see you on television and newspapers and I'm reminded of what I lost."

"You never loved me. You loved the idea of me. The idea of me always being there and putting your dreams before mine."

"That's not true," he argued. He turned away, shaking his head. "I would've supported you no matter what."

Rachel opened her mouth to speak but found that she could not; her own astonishment silenced her. Finn began, "It was a stupid thing to do and I regret it—"

"Regret the moment you hung it on the walls or when I figured out that it was you?" Rachel's ears were ringing. She looked at him straight in the eyes, he was now engulfed by a wild surge of anger.

"Why can't you forgive me?" He cried. "Quinn has done worse things to you and you've forgiven her for everything. You go back to her every time. What does she do, Rachel? What does she say to you?" In his voice, Rachel heard the unspeakable weight of the guilt and jealousy he's been holding onto for the past few years.

Rachel shook her head. Some door had opened in her mind, a shaft of light she could move toward. "I never thought you'd be capable of anything like this, Finn. With Quinn, I knew there was always more to the façades she hid behind. The things she did weren't harmless to say the least, but she knew when to not cross the line. Under her ice-queen persona, she had a heart; it was just waiting for the right person to bring out that side to her. But you. You weren't capable of hurting a fly. I don't understand why couldn't just be happy for us."

"Was what I did so horrible that you still can't forgive me?"

"I have Finn." And only speaking these words did the simple truth affect her, the weight of her debt to Finn, her gratitude in making her realize what she wanted. "I have forgiven you. It's not so much that, it's the fact that you knew all along and didn't tell me. Instead you tried to act like it didn't happen at all." She was speaking as much to herself as to Finn. "Maybe we could've had a chance at reconciliation if you had done the right thing from the beginning."

Finn said nothing. She went home.

Thoughts flew in and out of her head as she walked home. Looking at it closely, things weren't that great between Quinn and herself, but there are cuddles, a certain comfortable feeling in the coolness, light smiles, admissions of affection. And there's some laughter into the bargain, along with the touching. Still that intimacy. On the odd occasion, like this one for example, taking the time to examine the degree of their relationship, nothing, it seems, has changed. The same awful struggling for her memories, the scars growing daily over a new incident, something she did wrong, something she did right but can't seem to remember. It was like a constant battle for survival. Her heart swells.

Rachel was shocked to find Quinn perched on the couch when she walked in. She had expected Quinn to have gone home. Rachel grudgingly explained to her the outcome of her conversation with Finn. The truth came so effortlessly, bringing with it such a bolt of delight that she wondered why she had never went straight to the source from the beginning.

"I'm glad it worked out." Quinn said flatly.

"I want to be with you, Quinn. I know what I want now."

All at once, Quinn's defiance crumbled. Her body seemed to fold inward, and she stared at Rachel, speechless with anger and that chilly fear she didn't want to look at head on. Quinn made her way towards Rachel standing at the kitchen table. She took in a sharp, short breath. "I don't know if I want to do this anymore."

Body tensed, Rachel said quietly, "What do you mean?"

"Us, Rachel. I don't want _us_ anymore." The quiet words were full of grief—but something about her response didn't feel right. Before Rachel had a chance to examine it more closely, Quinn grabbed her arm. "I'm not in love with you."

"I'm sorry?"

Quinn gave her a long, measuring look. "I'm not in love with this version of you. I miss—" Her voice began to crack. "I miss the woman I got in the car with the morning of November twenty-fourth. I miss the way you hopped down the sidewalk smiling adorably toward me. I miss the fact that it took you five hours to pack for a weekend trip. I'm in love with _her_."

Every cell in her body was sending a message to her brain that she was missing something. Quinn was making her read between the lines. Her heart was pounding, a steady _thump-thump-thump_.

"I can't be with you. I don't know how to deal with this side of you. Not anymore."

Rachel didn't respond. Quinn gently took her hand, willing Rachel to look at her. Rachel finally faced her with moist eyes. After a long silence, Quinn brushed the tears from her cheeks with her fingers, a look of tenderness on her face. Her voice caught as she saw what Quinn's eyes were telling her. "You're in love with twenty-two year old Rachel."

The tears were beginning to fall for Quinn. "For weeks I've done my research, I've read everything possible on retrograde amnesia. There's two of you inside that body right now. Your sixteen year-old self is dominate because your twenty-two year-old self is hibernating. You have these moments where I think you've grown, like that time at Santana's wedding and we were together in the maze. I look at you and I feel so much love my heart hurts. And then you do something childish and selfish, like today. Holding our friends hostage to get what you want, calling me forty times. I told you I was working. Then you run off to Finn and come back to me like it's so easy for me to just fall back into your arms," Quinn wiped her eyes and frowned. When she spoke again, her voice was raspy,

"We're not kids anymore, Rach. I have a plane to catch in five hours and I'm here baby-sitting you. We all grew out of that selfishness we possessed in high school. _We_ learnt to live our lives apart. I can't come running to you every time you have a problem and need me. I can't put my life on hold for you, not this way, anyway. I love you but it doesn't mean you can take advantage of that."

Without speaking, Rachel continued to stare at Quinn for a long time, reliving the moments they spent together and the memory flashes she's had over the past few weeks. Her throat began to tighten, and when she finally does speak, it's shaky, "You stayed with me all those years when we were in high school, working through our issues—"

"Only because our mentality were the same. You were a brat, a diva, you were selfish, but I dealt with it because I was just as selfish and childish as you were. We both didn't know any better. But this, Rachel?" She raised her voice. "This is ridiculous. I don't know how to deal with that anymore. I haven't dealt with it in so long."

"You don't understand," Rachel began. "Waking up and losing five—"

Quinn shook her head to stop Rachel from talking. "I understand all of it," she said weakly. "Maybe at first I didn't, but after doing research I get it. You see Finn and all these old feelings return and you love him like you did in high school, your mentality is stuck in that year. It's not just that, Rachel, it's everything else. I took all my things out a week ago and you continued to call about every problem. You called to complain about our friends. Everything just escalated today.

"I don't want to push you to grow up, you need to do that on your own. But I'm so scared. It's not so much the memories, we can make new ones. It's the age difference. When will you be twenty-two again? When will your brain finally catch up to your body? And what if it takes five years? By then I'll be twenty-eight and we'll have another problem. It's a constant ship of problems one on top of another. I don't belong with sixteen year-old Rachel. That girl belongs with seventeen year-old Quinn. And she's not here anymore."

There was a feeling in the air of hopelessness. Yet even now, in the midst of hopelessness, Rachel wanted more; she was two people, one despairing, waiting to emerge and reclaim her body. Then there was the other, greedy and selfish, overjoyed in the presence of Quinn like a child eating candy.

"I love you." Rachel said without strength.

Quinn was watching her with a slightly crazy look, at the same time she seemed attentive to something else, or _someone_ else. "I doubt that, Rachel. I mean, do you love me as your sixteen year-old self and you feel admired by me? The feeling is new and exciting and I'm older and wiser, or do you love me, _love me? _Someone you want to spend the rest of your life with?"

Rachel's mind took in Quinn's words, her body gradually gave into the feelings. "I love _you_. Not Quinn of the past, not Quinn of my memories. I love Quinn of the present."

They stared at each other with the feelings inside of them rolling like ocean waves. Rachel's eyes dart around the room, then up to the ceiling, then back at Quinn, and Quinn's gaze warms her, her mind drifting free.

Quinn managed a tight smile. "And then you go and say something like that and I have faith that this is just temporary and our life right now is temporary and you're still in there."

"I am, Quinn, I mean—_your_ Rachel is."

"I miss her."

When Quinn's lips meet hers, it's a strange tingling sensation she's never felt before. Quinn's not only kissing her, but pulling something within her, deeper than her mouth or throat—from within her heart as if calling for _her_ Rachel Berry, the one she has grown to love. Rachel allowed herself to slip away as their tongues meet and the warmth in her body rises. She becomes a mighty ship in churning waters, strong and fearless, and Quinn is her sails. For that moment, the world is full of wonder.

"I should go." Quinn said, breaking away. "I'm going to Canada tomorrow."

"For what?"

"Interviews," she said drily. "I'm so sick of interviews."

"That's what you get for being a movie star."

"I'm not that big yet."

"Can we still keep in touch? I promise to not bother you regarding every minuscule problem."

Quinn chuckled. "No more disappearing."

There was a change, but not necessarily a change in making decisions to rekindle their relationship. It was a moment when things subtly shifted, when they began to accept that they were devoted to each other, when the point came to not be bitter with the memory loss and the tilt in their lives, but how to adjust to it.

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><p><strong>Thank you for your reviews and all that stuff. You're all awesome :)<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**FanFiction won't allow me to put multiple exclamation marks after a word, so let's pretend that in Quinn's letter, for every _one_ exclamation mark, there is like _ten_ after it. You'll understand once you read it. ****If all goes according to plan, there'll only be three more chapters. But have no fear, they'll most likely all be extremely long because I apparently don't know how to write short chapters. ****Thanks for all the reviews. Again, you're all awesome :)**

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><p><em>Before you I only dated self-indulgent takers who took all of their problems out on me<em>_  
><em>_But you carry my groceries and now I'm always laughing__  
><em>_And I love you because you have given me no choice but to__  
><em>_Stay stay stay I've been loving you for quite some time time time__  
><em>_You think that it's funny when I'm mad mad mad__  
><em>_But I think that it's best if we both stay stay stay_

—Taylor Swift: Stay Stay Stay

**•••**

**October 17th, 2016**

_Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. How are you? We're six hours ahead here in Bombay and if my calculations are correct it's about 1 a.m for you so you're most likely sleeping. In that case WAKE UP! IT'S QUINN!_

_This letter comes to you from my dressing room located on the set of an Indian talk show called Late-Afternoon Lock-In. Don't ask. I don't even know why I'm here. It's the only American or should I say English speaking talk show in all of Bombay and there's like one co-host who's American compared to the rest that are Indian. I wonder why he chose to work here? Would it be rude to ask him? I bet you're loving this seeing me sulk in my dressing room about the amount of interviews I have to do to promote this movie. Why did I choose this profession again? Oh, that's right. I'm an idiot. It's not so bad most of the time. I want to be in my room right now it includes a scary mattress and hot and cold running water. I say 'hot and cold' because I literally don't know when it's going to be hot or cold. The brochure tells me that it's a 4 and a ½ star hotel. WHAT A JOKE. God, I'm so cranky! I wish this day would be over. _

_Everyone is so loud here that I can hardly hear the compilation CD that you made me which I like a lot incidentally except for those jangly Broadway tunes that you put on because after all I'm not like YOU! I've been trying to read the book you sent me a few weeks ago too, though I have to admit I'm finding _Howards End_ quite heavy-going. It's like they've been drinking the same cup of tea for two hundred pages, and I keep waiting for someone to pull a knife or an alien invasion or something, but that's not what happens, is it? When will you stop trying to educate me, I wonder? NEVER, I hope!_

_By the way, in case you hadn't guessed from the Exquisite Pose and all the SHOUTING I'm writing this tipsy almost DRUNK. Actually hand writing it because I have no internet and the service on the phone is down! DAMN PHONES. What is technology good for if you can't go on the net from another country? As you can tell I'm not a good letter writer not like you (your last email was so funny) but all I will say is that India is incredible. I won't bore you with all the sunrise over the Hindu-kesh prose except to say that all the clichés are true (poverty, stomach upsets blah blah blah). Not only is it a rich and ancient civilization but you wouldn't BELIEVE what you can get in the pharmacy WITHOUT a prescription. _

"Miss Fabray?" Quinn turned to see one of the crew members addressing her. "We're on-air in two minutes." She said with an Indian accent.

Quinn took a moment to take a look at her reflection in the mirror. She sighed and pressed three fingers hard into her skull, trying to blank her mind. Hold it together. Be good. Do something good. Second last interview for the week. One more and it will all be over. She smiled that smile that she keeps for use on television, then picking up her water bottle, she heads out onto the studio floor. Toby Moray, the American presenter, was waiting for her at the edge of the immense set. The crew were running around, patting her on the shoulder and high above their heads ironic go-go dancers in bikinis and cowboy boots stretch their calves in ironic cages.

She doesn't want to go. Music thumps from the speakers: _Start the Dance_ by _The Prodigy_, and she wanted to stay in the wings, but Toby was tugging her arm and suddenly she's bounded out into the studio lights. The set involves a lot of scaffolding, and Toby climbed on the ramps until he was looking down at the audience, chattering all the way: _Look at you, you're all gorgeous, are you all ready to have a great time? Make some noise_. Quinn stood mute at the bottom, her microphone dead in her hand as she realized that she was drunk. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to call her out when it was time for her interview to take place, make small talk for a few minutes, ask about her personal life, the movie.

A single clear male voice sails up the gantry. "You're hot! I love you, Quinn!"

Quinn seeked out the heckler, a skinny, grinning twerp, but it got a laugh, a big laugh. Even the cameramen are laughing. "My agent, ladies and gentlemen." Quinn said, unsure of where she found the courage to say that, and that led to a ripple of amusement, but that's all.

"One minute everyone." The floor manager shouted.

Quinn's eyes search the crowd for a friendly face, but there was none and once again she wished Rachel were with her. She could be at her best if Rachel were here, or any one of her friends, but they're not, just this jeering crowd of people much older than herself. She had to find a bit of spirit somewhere, a bit of attitude, this apparently was not any regular television interview that she was doing.

She glanced over at Toby who was now taking a large gulp from his bottled water. His hands were trembling and he started coughing, red-faced and spluttering as guitars crash over speakers, drums pound, go-go dancers writhe and a camera on wires swoops down from the high ceiling like a bird of prey. The music fades and all that can be heard is Toby coughing. Quinn stood frozen, dried, dead on air and drunkenly crashing her own vehicle. The plane is going down, the ground looming up to meet her. "Say something, Quinn." She heard a loud whisper. "Quinn? Hello?" But her brain won't work and her mouth won't work and she continued to stand there, dumb in every way. The seconds stretch. This was not part of her job description.

Toby, the true professional, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, proof that we're going out live worldwide."

Worldwide?

There was a relieved little flutter from the audience. "It's all going very well so far, isn't it, Quinn?" He jabbed her in the ribs with his finger, and Quinn sprung to life.

"Oh, sorry, about that there—" She said. "I must have miss-read the memo where I was a guest presenter today."

"Someone's had too much alcohol." Toby said, and he does the little comic wriggle of the wrist that suggests Quinn's a drinker, and the audience laugh, which does not make her feel any better. "I'm only joking, Quinn." He nudged her again and turned to the camera. "Welcome to _Late-Afternoon Lock-In_. I'm Toby Moray and our special guest today is Quinn Fabray!"

And they're back on course, "First," he said and turned to Quinn. "I hear that your movie is coming out late December."

"That's right, Toby," Quinn replied. "I had so much fun filming it." Truth. "The promotion has been a whirlwind ride but I'm loving every minute of it." Lie.

"You were in a car accident a few months back, is that correct?" He asked. Typical question.

"Yes—"

"And you're all better? No more hospital visits?"

"No—"

"That's a magnificent recovery. And Rachel, your friend, she—" Jerk. "Is she okay?"

"Rachel's health is stable, yes. She's taking Broadway by storm."

They spend the next five minutes discussing the movie and a two minute clip of the trailer was shown for the first time in India. Then, Toby introduced the afternoon's feast of great comedy and music, appealing and attractive like the two coolest kids at school. "So, without further ado, let's make some noise please—" He flung his arm out behind him, like a ring-master. "—and give a big _Late-Afternoon Lock-In_ welcome to Shed! Seven!"

The camera swoops away from them as if it has lost interest, and the voices from the gallery are chattering around her head over the sound of the band. "Everything alright there, Quinn?" Asked the producer.

She looked back, eyes narrowed. "No one told me I was co-hosting the show today."

"We notified your agent regarding that change. The regular host was unwell today and since you're here we decided that you should co-host as well."

"_You_ decided. I made a complete fool of myself."

Toby intervened. "No one watches this show, Quinn. Unless you're in India."

"You said we were going out live worldwide!"

"That was nothing. It gets broadcast at four a.m on those free-to-air channels that no one watches. Besides, I had to say it so the audience wouldn't think this show had no purpose."

"Try to keep it together, please." The producer said and he was gone before she could protest.

"Sorry about—you know, saying _friend _regarding Rachel. They're not very accommodating to sexual orientation in this culture." Toby said apologetically.

"It's fine." She muttered. The monitors tell her that there are fifty-six minutes and twenty-one seconds to go, and she's not sure how long she can keep her emotions under control.

_I'm squeezing in a little letter writing time while someone takes over my spot. I hope they take over it for good. This has been the worst interview. I don't even know why Kelly sent me here! Remind me to yell at her when I get back home. HOME. That's a place I'd like to be right now. In my nice and comfortable bed, with technology a nice hot shower, not that it's cold here. In fact I walk around in my underwear whenever possible (don't think such dirty thoughts Rach). I don't know if you can tell but I had two more beers. Beers is the typical drink here, they drink it like water. My head is feeling a little light and I have to shake my head a few times to get the blur out of my eyes. Now, I know what you're going to say. Quinn that is unethical behavior. Drunk on television! My response is, it's India! I'm on a semi-holiday!_

_So I've seen some amazing things while it's not always fun it is an Experience and I've taken thousands of photographs which I will show you very very sloooooooowly when I get back. Pretend to be interested won't you? After all I pretended to be interested when you kept going on and on about meeting Barbra Streisand, and let's admit it right now Rach, she WALKED PASSED you and smiled. You didn't even TALK to her. _

_Ok gotta go back to presenting duties. They're calling me those bastards._

Forty-five minutes later as the final credits roll, Quinn tried to make sense of what she had just seen. She didn't know much about television, or how she appeared to the viewers at home, but she was sure that she hadn't shone. The whole time she was shaky, actually frightened sometimes. Fluffing lines, looking at the wrong camera, she was amateurish, which was completely plausible considering she had never co-hosted a show in her life, but it was sensing the unease from the people she interviewed that bothered her the most—the Indian rapper on tour, the four cocky Mancuians—all responded with disdain or sarcasm.

The audience glared too, like surly teenagers at a pantomime, arms crossed high on their chests. She was an actress, and damn good at it if she may add, but failing at co-hosting was something she was never going to forget. Actors thrived on these moments, they were taught to improvise in times of need, Quinn's improvising had failed, miserably. She didn't know much about the media, but she could recognize a car crash. By the time the last band played out her hand had come over to cover her face. There was a lot of irony about these days, but surely not to the extent that booing is good.

She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to dwell on it. No one watched this show unless they were in India, according to Toby. And who did she know that was in India? Certainly not Rachel and that was all that mattered. She was going back to her four and a half star hotel that was more likely to be a two star hotel and finish her letter to Rachel before she ran out of courage to say everything she'd wanted.

_What's happening with you work-wise? How is the play coming along? Are you traveling to different states or what? I am extremely proud of you, Rach. You're back where you belong and I have no doubt that you're amazing on that stage. I know you've reminded me a million times! I promise to see one of your shows when I come back! It's first on my to-do list! Have you been in contact with anyone else? How's Santana doing? Brittany? Puck? Puck hasn't annoyed me lately which is surprising. He's usually bugging me about Candy and getting me to introduce him to her. I still haven't told him that she bats for the lesbian team so don't say anything! Your last email made me laugh so much Rach. I'm still laughing while thinking about it. I hope you're not upset that I haven't replied to you I had no idea that when I got to India I wouldn't have any service and that my hotel was a crappy 2 star posing as a 4 star and there would be no internet. But do not fear, I'm sending out this letter today as soon as I finish it!_

_Which brings me to the reason why I'm writing to you drunk. It's the only way I have enough courage to say everything. Are you ready? You might want to sit down..._

The hotel phone beside her scary mattress bed rang loudly and she almost dropped the glass of wine in her hand. She groaned in frustration, she needed to get this out of her system before she loses the courage. Picking it up she said warily, "Hello?"

"What is Snoop Dogg's favorite weather? Drizzle. Does that ring a bell, Q?"

"Ha. That's so funny, Santana. I'm tumbling over from laughter." She said, trying to not sound annoyed.

"Is that how you greet me?"

Quinn finished her drink in one gulp and said, "How'd you find me?"

Quinn heard Santana take a deep breath over the phone. "I called your agent, who gave me the number to the hotel you stayed in in Hong Kong. Then I called her back and she remembered you were in India—"

"Okay, I get it. You called Kelly."

"You're one hard person to get in contact with, Quinn. Why's your phone not working?"

Quinn shuffled down the bed to pick up her phone. It was on and there was signal. Stupid thing. "I don't know. It's on." She wondered whether Rachel has been trying to contact her.

"So, how are you?" She could picture Santana leaning back and stretching out her legs.

"Alright," Quinn shrugged, not really knowing what to say. I hate being here. I hate all the traveling. I hate being away from Rachel. "Can't complain. Free hotel, free flights."

"Lucky bitch. I should've gone into acting."

"I think the only role you'll be good at is the mean bitch role. You'll scare all the casting directors off."

"Hey, if it gets me to Hong Kong and India, I'd gladly do anything for it."

This time Quinn did laugh, but only slightly. "How are you? How's everyone?" How's Rachel.

Santana's enthusiasm picked up. "Got an A on my Advocacy Tax finals, top of the class. No big deal. Brittany's still on tour dancing. Puck is well, Puck. He has a new girlfriend every week. Kurt's still Kurt. Mercedes—"

"Got it. They're all the same."

"Rachel," Santana whispered and Quinn held the phone closer to her ear. "Rachel's been asking about you. In fact, she can't stop talking about you. It's like high school all over again." Hearing Rachel's name jolted her back into the world. She didn't say anything and Santana said, "Have you spoken to her?"

"Sometimes, mostly through emails. The last time we spoke on the phone was when I was in Hawaii. I feel like I'm on another planet and have no idea what's happening in the real world."

"Are you sure you're in India and not Krypton."

"Krypton's not real."

"That's exactly my point. It's like you went to another planet."

Quinn chuckled as she said, "I probably did. Tell me what's been happening. Like _really_ tell me."

While Santana was talking about their friends, Quinn's mind wanders to a memory of spreading out on a blanket with Rachel beside her. They're both lying in the sun in her backyard in Lima. This was before graduation. They hear the sound of the ice cream truck and Rachel runs to buy one cone of ice cream with two scoops. They had become one of _those_ couples that share. Except Rachel didn't really share it with her and only gave Quinn the ice cream cone once she ate the two scoops. Later on, she falls asleep on Rachel's lap. She's not sure how long she was sleeping for, but when she becomes conscious she feels Rachel stroking her hair and kissing her forehead, and then Rachel is whispering,

"I love the way you capture your bottom lip between your teeth when you're nervous. I love the way you burn your eyes into me, as if you're seeing me fresh every time. I love the dark streak in you that wants to kill the world, and the soft streak that is sorry afterwards. I love the way you laugh as though you're surprised you can laugh at all. I love the way you kiss my breath away. I love the confusion I see in your eyes when you realize that you are happy."

The memory ends there. It's painful to think of something so pleasant and so far away. Somewhere the past changed. She doesn't want the present. She wasn't even sure if there was a conceivable future. In the middle of such moments contentment is absolute: there is only herself, there is only Rachel, the two of them drifting on an endless sea of love.

"—You're going to buy us all dinner when you come back, Quinn. You're making the big monies now."

Quinn pushed herself up on the mattress, her back leaning against the wall because there was no headrest. Really, it was a bed on top of another bed against a wall. "I can't wait to see everyone and be back in the real world."

"We all miss you."

"Even you?"

Santana laughed and Quinn got her answer. "Did you ever think your life would be like this?"

"Are you asking me seriously or joking? No one wants this life—"

"That's not what I mean you, idiot," Santana cut her off. "I meant, traveling and seeing the world."

"I wouldn't quite call it seeing the world. If I'm lucky I get a few hours off to go sightseeing."

"Sounds like the high life if you ask me."

"It's a good thing no one's asking you."

They talk and banter for a little while longer and then Santana said, "Well, I should go. This call isn't free." They say their goodbyes and Quinn promises to call her when she's back in the _real world_.

_Since I've come back to the hotel I've drank (drunken? dronk?) some more alcohol, wine this time and then Santana called which put me a bit behind schedule and I drank another glass and so I am now ready to say this. We've known each other for a long time Rach. You're the only person who really knows me, everything about me. It hurts so much that you don't remember any of it. I do pull away when I'm reminded of the woman, the 22 year old you that I love so much. I pull away because I know she's going to disappear again at some point and I don't want to get close enough to get hurt again. _

_The future is unclear for us. I have my doubts, and I have my faith. But I know that I love you and I can't see my life with anyone else but you whether you're 16 or 22. Here's the thing Rach, time apart from one another is good the only problem is I can't_—_no, I won't stay away from you. As often and as much as I tell myself that I should, I just can't do it. The day you told me you were still in love with Finn I had intended to leave and give us some space except I couldn't. You did annoy me with the constant calling, on the other hand the fact that you NEEDED me meant so much more. When I'm with you I'm flying, I'm unaware of everything around me and all I see is you. I don't know what you're going to think of this so I'm just going to say it. I want to be with you. It's pointless acting as though we're not going to get back together because we are. It's you and me Rach, I've never been apart from you for this long and even when I am I'm always thinking about you and you're always thinking about me so why can't we just be together and think about each other. That way I can tease you like I used to for my own amusement. God I miss those moments. It was a vibrant, golden time, our love. Full of excitement and unlimited opportunity. There wasn't a single sign on the horizon of imminent downturn (very poetic I know_—_yeap that's it, I'm going back to college once this is over!). _

_So time for another breather before the next paragraph because I've barely gotten started. This letter builds to a life-changing climax. I wonder if you're ready for it._

Quinn stood a little unsteadily and steeled herself for the showers. She made a bet with herself that the water would be cold and if she won then she'd get to have another drink. If she lost, it would still involve another drink. She was deeply tanned now, or as Rachel had said, a light, golden glow. Except now it was a darker, golden glow. She had also lost some weight, but secretly didn't mind it. It's been promotions after promotions, interviews, she has had to re-shoot some scenes, meeting fans, photoshoots with the cast—it has been three months of non-stop commitment. Her trip to India, as unexpected as it was, she welcomed the privacy and mini-holiday and the fact that she could step outside and not have a paparazzo follow her and hide behind a bush. How dumb did they think she was? Let me just hide behind a bush and hold my camera in the air, Quinn won't notice anything.

Sobered by the cold shower, she had another drink as a reward—because she won it fair and square by betting with herself. And then she saw the letter. Eight blue sheets densely written on both sides. She wasn't finished with it yet. She stared at it as if an intruder had left it behind, and with her new sobriety came the first twinge of doubt. Picking it up gingerly, she glanced at the page at random and immediately looked away, her mouth puckered tight. All those capitals and exclamation marks and awful jokes. She had expressed in the letter how drunk she was, she had used the word 'dronk' which wasn't even a real word, she wrote a line of poetry she didn't even know she could write. _It's pointless acting as though we're not going to get back together because we are. It's you and me Rach_—what was she thinking? What seemed urgent and touching an hour ago now seemed mawkish and gauche. Clearly the letter would change everything, and weren't things fine just the way they are?

She drank some more.

_Alright I'm back just took a shower. Had another drink two to be exact. You're probably thinking I'm such a drunk. Anyway Rach, if you don't want to hear_—_read_—_what I have to say stop reading now. Here goes._

_I was running back to my room in the rain once the show was over_—_the rain is warm here, hot even sometimes, not like American rain_—_I was, like I said, pretty drunk and I found myself thinking about you and thinking about what a shame Rachel isn't here to see this and experience this and I had this revelation and it's this._

_You should be here with me. In India. I haven't seen you in 3 months, it's about time we saw each other don't you think?_

_And this is my big idea, and it might be insane, but I'm going to write it before I change my mind. Follow these simple instructions._

_1. _—_Leave your job right now. Let them find someone else to take over Anne Frank. Put that dress in your bag that you love so much as a gift to yourself and just leave. Think what that would feel like. Walk out, right now._

_2._ —_I also think that you should leave the apartment and come live with me. I know it was originally our place but the one I found is so much better. It's got a view of the Brooklyn Bridge and you love that bridge. You're always talking about how you want to go for a run every morning if you lived closer to it and now you can and I'll be home waiting for you because I am no longer as athletic as I used to be but I have a feeling that you'll change that if you got the chance. Well here's your chance Rachel! When I get back to the REALWORLD I'm going to move all your stuff in and I'll do it myself if I have to because that's the kind of amazing person that I am. We'll be ROOMMATES. That's providing that you can overcome your sexual attraction to me haha. If worse comes to worse I'll lock you in your room at night. Anyway, now the big one_—

_3._ —_As soon as you've read this, go to the travel agency and book an OPEN RETURN flight to Delhi. This letter will arrive in 2 days I'm guessing. Today is the 17th you'll get it on the 19th, book a flight to arrive here on the 21st. Once you get here don't come to this hotel its crap. Get a train to Agra and stay in one of the hotels there. Once you arrive go to the Taj Mahal. ___Perhaps you've heard of it_—_big white building, he built it for his wife_—d____on't forget to see the Taj Mahal at sunrise, DO NOT AND I MEAN DO NOT go any later. You'll be sharing the place with 20, 000 people instead of 20. Then a__t precisely midday you stand directly under the center of the dome with a red rose in one hand and a copy of _The Fault In Our Stars_ in the other and I will come and find you. Rach I will be carrying a white rose and the copy of _Howards End_ and when I see you I will throw it at your head. And then I will hug you._

_Isn't that the greatest idea you've ever heard in your life? _

_Ah typical drunk Quinn you say, isn't she forgetting something? Social security and work ethic? Well don't worry, we won't be here long. I'm only here for another week which means when you arrive on the 21st we'd have to go back 3 days later. Now you're probably thinking I'm going to India just to spend 3 days with you?! Well Rachel, the length isn't the point it's the time you'll be spending with me that counts! We'll do things, you can tell me again about how you met Barbra Streisand and I'll pretend to be interested. I'll show you some pictures and we'll have dinner and hold hands and have people judge and look at us all weird because lesbians aren't out and proud over here, but hey that's okay it'll be FUN because you'll be with ME! Oh my guide book tells me that there's a full moon party on the 23rd_—_imagine staying awake all night not because you're worried about the future but because it'll be FUN!_

_For a thousand dollars, I'm guessing that's how much the ticket is, you could change your life Rachel! You won't have to worry about money or anything because I'll pay for everything else! How's that? You make more than me but let's forget that at the moment. OH! I thought of number 4! I'll leave my job and we can live here! No, we'll travel the world! With what money you ask? We could get odd jobs! Of course we have to come home at some point but that's not for a while. By the way I found some really cool things on the internet regarding me and you, you'll really enjoy this story and if you meet me at the Taj Mahal I will tell you all about it, but ONLY if you meet me. _

_On the wall in front of me is this massive sort of praying mantis thing and he's looking at me as if to say shut up now so I will. I'm going to find a post box and send this before I change my mind. Not because I think you coming here is a bad idea_—_it isn't, it's a great idea and you have to come_—_but I think I might have said too much. The last time we spoke in person I was telling you that I don't want to be with 16 year old Rachel and now I'm telling you to come here but it's been 3 months and I miss you and I want to see you! Sorry if this has annoyed you. The main thing is that I think about you a lot, that's all. Call me sentimental but there's no one in the world I'd rather like to see get dysentery more than you haha._

_Taj Mahal 21st October, 12 midday! If you don't come I'm going to throw the book at your head when I get back. Minus the hug._

_I will find you!  
>Love, Quinn.<em>

Quinn stretched and scratched her scalp, drained the last of her wine glass and picked up the letter, tapped the edges together and laid the stack solemnly in front of her. She shook the cramp out of her hand; eleven pages written at great length, the most she had written since her finals. Stretching her arms above her head in satisfaction she thought: this isn't a letter, it's a gift. Did she really want Rachel with her in India? Would she have to kiss Rachel at the Taj Mahal? Would Rachel agree to be with her and not as two people who pretend that there's nothing going on but as an actual couple? Did she really want to see Rachel that much?

Yes, she decided, she did. Because for all its obvious idiocy, there was sincere affection, more than affection, in what she had written. She could always say she was drunk if things didn't pan out the way she hoped. That much was at least true.

Without further hesitation she packed the letter into an airmail envelope and slipped it into her copy of _Howards End_, next to Rachel's written dedication. Then she headed off to find a post box.

_Dear Quinn,__  
><em>_Since I currently have no idea where you are atm (are you happy that I've finally used abbreviations?) I'm trusting that your agent will forward this to you. A great novel for your journey. Travel well and return safely with no tattoos. Be good, or as good as you are able. I'll miss you._

_Lots of love, Rachel.__  
><em>_October 12th._

**•••**

**February 10th, 2012**

"Finn Hudson, you putrescent piece of scum!"

Finn's skin instantly paled, his face shrivelled around his bones the closer Quinn approached him. She could sense his intimidation, but he didn't flinch. Instead he ignored her by pretending to rummage through his locker. Quinn's pulse began to race, the last remnants of her self-control incinerated as her temper took over. Fuelled by unbearable anger, Quinn found a way to channel brute power within herself to ignore the stares and the constant chanting of _fight, fight, fight_. Students had crowded virtually around every inch of the hallway.

She didn't know where she found the strength, but somehow she grabbed onto his shirt and spun him around, pushing his back against the lockers. Finn stiffened, and while he looked calm with his hands in the air, she could feel the tense vibration of his body as he forced himself not to react. Quinn took in quick shallow breaths, her skin turned hot like burning coals. Gone from her mind were any consciousness that they were in school and Rachel's feelings. The rage building inside her was explosive, and instead of trying to diffuse it like she usually would, she surrendered to it.

"Why'd you do it?" She yelled. She could see sweat dripping down his face.

"Quinn, calm—"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down. I want to know _why_ you did it."

Finn's eyes glinting with sudden unease. "I—she—she shouldn't be with you."

"This is about Rachel? You did it because you want Rachel all to yourself?"

He took a long breath and his lips twitched in what might've been a smile, or maybe just a grimace of pain. "I don't know why I did it. I did it because seeing you two making out in that room angered me. She shouldn't be with you. You've done nothing but hurt her and she's forgiven you for everything!"

It chilled her—conscious or otherwise—to see how closely he walked the line between right and wrong. Not that she was a saint herself. There was a time, not too long ago, that she would've done anything to seize Finn out of Rachel's grasp, but there was a line she wouldn't have crossed and this was it. To have gotten Finn, she would've done it cunningly, manipulatively, _secretly_, not at the expense of exposing (if Finn had one) his biggest secret. To the whole school, no less. There were other alternatives, but he'd chosen the one he knew best: being stupid.

Finn stared at her, his expression questioning. "What do you say to her, Quinn? Why does she forgive you so easily?"

She was about to say something until she heard someone yell, "Punch him, Quinn."

She took a deep breath and stepped away from him, registering the mob of fifty teenagers huddled around them, shouting and cheering as though they were at a football game.

"This isn't over." She said tonelessly to Finn.

"What is this? What's going on?" Sue Sylvester broke through the crowd to part them. She locked her eyes onto Quinn for a second and then shouted, "Look at you all, scattered around like animals in the wild. Get to class." Quinn didn't get far enough before she was stopped by her coach. "Gay Lady! Last warning or you're off the team. Santana's enough of a delinquent I don't need another one."

Quinn merely acknowledged the threat, spinning around to see Rachel. She read the fear and panic on Rachel's face. Stunned, she couldn't move, guilt hammering through her. Rachel broke eye contact and Quinn sighed heavily, making her way to the other girl's locker.

"Hey," Rachel didn't say anything. Quinn shuddered, Rachel's sudden coldness hurt beyond words. "Why didn't you tell me it was Finn? I had to hear it from Santana."

Rachel didn't look at her when she spoke, "And how may I have done that, Quinn, when you've refused to answer my calls for days? Every time I try to talk to you at school you go the other way."

A punch in the gut. Okay, she deserved that. "Rachel—"

"I have to get to class."

She grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything and I've—"

"Get a room, lesbians!"

Quinn instantly dropped Rachel's hand at the remark, almost throwing it away from her. She was wracked with a spasm of irritation. Why did she always retreat to that side of herself? Rachel noticed and said, "Quinn, if you can't be with me now, it's going to affect our relationship in the future. You're never going to see these people again, and you're still afraid. What happens when the entire world finds out? I'm not going to lie when someone asks me who the love of my life is."

Though she understood that her hyper-emotional state was a normal reaction to her rage, it didn't ease the nausea and hollow despair at seeing the hurt in Rachel's eyes. She didn't miss the faint tightening of Rachel's mouth, or how her gaze slid from Quinn's. Rachel shrugged as if knowing Quinn was never going to put her first—she accepted the fact that Quinn would find excuses to stay away, excuses to not come out.

"Rachel, tell me what to do."

"I can't do that."

"You always have the answers."

"You either want to be with me or you don't."

Quinn turned briefly and caught her gaze—dark, shuttered, the lids half-lowered. "Of course I want to be with you."

"You have a funny way of showing it. We have to whisper in the middle of the hallway. You won't hold my hand. You broke up with me."

"That—"

"Quinn," Rachel reasoned, her voice was strained. "The entire school already knows. And you're still here. The world didn't end." With that, she walked away and Quinn stared at her retrieving back.

How incredibly awkward. Considering the physical and emotional intimacies they had shared in the past few months, and what they'd been through, the simple act of communicating shouldn't be so difficult. Had they nothing to say to each other anymore? She could almost hear the walls coming down with a solid finality.

She wanted to kick herself for her stubbornness and complacency. Everything she has said and done in the past few months told Rachel that she wanted to be with her; how could she break through to _herself_? Squash the fear. Rachel was not going to force her into a relationship, she knew that much. Being with Finn, as horrible as it was, it made her stronger. She would want to keep her dignity intact despite the gathering hurt.

For the past few days, Quinn has tried to tell herself that she must accept certain private inevitabilities. Like this fear, for example. The fear of the whole world knowing her secret, the fear of having people judge and ridicule her for no reason other than being gay. She will carry it with her like a virus, and while this fear will not improve, nonetheless she will learn to live with it as if it were a minor irritation. Then her mind would drift—for no particular reason—to the outlook of her life and she'll realize that it's narrowing, that things are closing off, and it's as if her breath has been taken away from her as when a roller coaster begins its plummet. The outlook is undeniably narrowing. The horizon is shrinking. It's hard to swallow, and her heart starts to pound.

And then Rachel would appear in her mind—entirely uninvited—and she thinks, I can do this for Rachel. I can get through this narrow like passing a storm. It'll be like a second chance. To turn bad fortune into good.

She continued to chant it throughout the day to give her some form of courage. And when the time came, everything in her body screamed out, _you're whipped_.

Quinn stood at the top of the stairs outside the courtyard, microphone in hand, the band settling themselves at the bottom. She saw Rachel sitting despondently with the glee kids and she perked up when she saw Quinn. Quinn noticed the way Rachel's eyes darted from her to the microphone to the band. Then suddenly everyone was turning around and staring at her. The wicked pounding in her heart returned. She felt like her head was going to explode. She wasn't aware of the rush of activities around her. The footsteps on the concrete, the chatter and murmurs.

The band started playing without waiting for her to be ready and she felt tingling with elation, yet half-afraid to move. Rachel was standing now, waiting for her in the narrowing; she had to prove that they can get through anything together. She got a light ripple of applause and that seemed to be all the encouragement she needed.

_I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night  
>I threw my phone across the room at you<br>I was expecting some dramatic turn away but you stayed_

She sang for Rachel, but she wanted nothing more than to throw herself in Rachel's arms and hug her as hard as she could. She'd missed the press of Rachel's body against hers, their arms around each other, her quiet strength and quick mind.

_Before you I only dated self-indulgent takers who took their problems out on me  
>But you carry my groceries and now I'm always laughing<br>And I love you because you've given me no choice but to stay stay stay_

As she got closer, amusement touched Rachel's eyes. Quinn reached across and took her hand, the heat of Rachel's body, the scent of Rachel's daisies, hit her like a visceral jolt, making her knees weak and the rest of her go all shaky.

_You took the time to memorize my fears, my hopes, my dreams  
>I just like hanging out with you all the time<br>All those times you didn't leave it's been occurring to me  
>I would like to hang out with you for my whole life<em>

A wide, answering smile broke across Rachel's face, reminding Quinn all over again why she'd fallen in love with her. She had so much heart, touching her like no one she'd ever known. Quinn wanted to stop in the middle of the song, fling her arms around Rachel's neck and kiss her until both of them could hardly breathe. Instead, she sang out the last few lines,

_Stay stay stay I've been loving you for quite some time time time__  
>You think that it's funny when I'm mad mad mad<br>But I think that it's best if we both stay stay stay stay_

A sudden inspiration took over her. Probably a crazy inspiration, but Quinn fixed Rachel with an intense stare and stood up on the table. Rachel just stared at her, rubbing the back of her neck, looking so unsure of herself.

"Quinn, what are you doing? Get down." She demanded.

Quinn focused on her face with that unnerving intensity. "Rachel Berry, I love you." She spoke into the microphone. The courtyard was gathering force. Everyone was watching them.

"Quinn!" Rachel said sternly, but her smile was widening. "You don't have to do this. You love me, okay, now get down."

"No, you're right, I'm never going to see these people again—"

"Hey!" Puck shouted from her right. "What the hell? What are we?"

"Yeah, Quinn, do we not matter?" Brittany said.

Quinn rolled her eyes. Why did she have friends again? "I'm not going to see _most_ of these people again—"

"Because you all suck." Santana shouted.

"Shut up, Santana," she turned back to Rachel. "It doesn't matter who knows about us because I love you and that's all that matters. You love me for who I am and our friends accept us for who we are. So, I'm shouting it from the rooftops—"

"Technically, you're on a table." Rachel said.

"Do you want me to do this or not?"

"Carry on."

"So, I'm shouting it from this _table_ that I love you and people can throw slushies and call us names and make fun of us but it's not going to change anything."

She got down from the table and kissed Rachel, soft as snow. She could hardly register the half-hearted little ripple of applause (mainly from the glee kids) as Rachel's body arched with tentative pleasure, and through every bone in her body, Quinn felt a thrum of quiet, quiet joy.

**•••**

**October 21st, 2016**

Quinn sat in the very last carriage of the stationary train and waited for the other passengers to leave. She had her overnight bag on the seat next to her. She checked out of her hotel first thing in the morning—she decided that she would be staying with Rachel at her hotel—assuming she would be seeing Rachel today. Acting completely out of character, Rachel hasn't contacted her in the past few days. No calls, no texts. Nothing. At times Quinn wondered whether Rachel had received her letter at all. Things like that tend to happen—letters get misplaced, gifts take longer than usual to arrive, customs delay packages. Occasionally, however, fate dictated that you had to take a chance.

Getting ready this morning, she was putting her faith in their relationship and soon she will have her answer regarding their future—all it took was for Rachel to either be waiting for her at the Taj Mahal, or not.

On the table in front of her lay _Howards End_. She had finally finished the book just as the train entered Agra. It was the first novel she had finished in some months, she figured she owed it to Rachel to finish it even though she had a hard time enjoying it.

Waiting for the carriage to clear, she turned once more to the inside of the back cover where Rachel had written her dedication for Quinn. She traced her fingers lightly over the letters. She could still feel the faint marks of pen to paper. Please be there Rach. Be there waiting for me. The last time they had spoken, in theory, Quinn was drunk and Rachel was reading her thoughts through a letter. Things had been said. What did Rachel think? Did Rachel want to be with her? Was it too soon to try again? She picked up her bag, the white rose, and joined the last few passengers as they waited to step down the platform.

How can she explain this? The letter seemed like such a simple gesture, then today she woke up and realized that she had spent three days waiting for this moment. The churning was back in her stomach. If she didn't see Rachel, then she'd hope that Rachel was just running late. She was losing faith. Rachel was the only one who could restore it. She forced herself to believe in her heart that it'll never be over between them no matter how hard the universe tried to drive the course of their lives into oblivion.

The Taj Mahal was the first thing she noticed. You couldn't exactly miss it even from thirty miles away, it was huge and white and it blinded you if the sun were behind it. Then her eyes dart around looking for a tiny brunette standing beneath it, there were too many people; they were all tiny and brunette from her distance. The closer she got her hands started to shake, her legs were trembling, she was afraid if she'd stop walking her limbs might fall off. It felt like finding Wally. First she looked for the color red—the rose she told Rachel to hold, then she looked for blue—the color of the book she told Rachel to bring, and then she looked for brown hair, and just as easily, the search was complete.

With her heart almost about to burst from her chest, Rachel turned around and smiled at her. Red rose in one hand. _The Fault In Our Stars_ in the other. Quinn quickened her pace. Rachel began to feel self-conscious as she waited wondering what to do with her hands, her eyes. The distance between them seemed immense; smile and stare, smile and stare for one-hundred feet? Seventy feet. Quinn looked at her shoes, then back at Rachel. She took in Rachel's appearance; her hair was shorter, a little passed her shoulders, her bangs were brushed across her forehead, and she had more color in her face, the summer face that Quinn remembered. Better dressed too, high shoes, a smart dark skirt, a pale grey shirt unbuttoned a touch too far below her neck.

Rachel scanned her eyes around one last time and she started to move her feet. She must have gotten tired of standing there staring off into the distance. Thirty feet. Quinn was reminded of the first time Rachel opened her eyes after the accident. She had felt several things then. The same applies now, except its amplified: she feels relieved because Rachel is _here_. She feels her heart ache with _absolute content_. Ten feet. People say that in or near overdose you drift into a profound stasis broken up only by endless falling snowflakes. The whole world disappears and nothing exists, you're trapped inside the thickness of boundaries, you feel immense warmth running through your veins.

The moment Rachel collapsed into her embrace, Quinn feels the thing that feels like love.

Rachel was the first to break the spell. "Before you say anything, Quinn, I only came because I didn't want you to stand here in this heat waiting for hours."

Quinn smiled and brushed her thumb across Rachel's bangs intimately. "Lies. You came because you miss me." Then she swirled a finger around Rachel's curls. "I like this look."

"You should've seen it two weeks ago. I looked like a collaborator!" Rachel said. Quinn's face didn't move. She let Rachel talk, "I went to a Parisian hairdresser for the first time. Terrifying! As soon as he started trimming my ends I kept thinking, please stop, please stop. The funny thing is, he was talking to me in French and my head was nodding back and forth while he kept cutting. He said something in English about contemporary dance or can-man-ever-truly-be-free. I don't understand that," Rachel stopped talking and Quinn's eyes were still fixed on her. "I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

Quinn touched the hair on her back. She hadn't wanted Rachel to stop talking. "Well, I think it suits you. It's like there's a fancy-dress party and you've come as the Sophisticated American Modern Princess."

"Or a Call Girl."

"But a High-Class Call Girl."

"Didn't see that one coming," she laughed. "Oh, before I forget," she handed Quinn the red rose and took the white rose out of Quinn's hand. "I believe this one is mine. Also, um... I leave tonight."

"What?"

"Quinn, irrationally, you gave me one day's notice. My agent's already booked me in for an interview tomorrow."

Quinn chewed on her bottom lip nervously. She was not expecting this. "So, we only have a few hours?"

Rachel nodded, taking Quinn's hand. "I didn't have a way of contacting you. Your phone doesn't seem to be working."

"When did you get here?"

"Four in the morning."

It wasn't the fact that Rachel being with her for one day was bad. It's just that once Rachel left it would be bad. Because the pain seemed potentially endless. And the antidote to that pain was Rachel. "Well, I'm glad you came."

"Couldn't leave you here to acquire heat exhaustion could I?"

The walked away from the Taj Mahal, the air was stifling and fume-filled; a typical day in India, muggy, with thick grey clouds threatening rain. In anticipation of this journey, Quinn had memorized a scenic walk, or as scenic as possible in the dust and traffic of the city. "Did you go inside the building?"

"Yeah," Rachel took out her phone and showed Quinn some pictures. "It's so beautiful! I could live here."

"As in _in_ the country?"

"As in _inside_ the Taj Mahal."

Quinn frowned. "You're insane."

"Think about it, Quinn," Rachel chirped, her eyes lit like stars. "The building is large enough to house _us_ and a thousand other animals just like we said in high school that we'd live in a mansion full of animals."

Slowly, Quinn felt a relishing flash of familiar pleasure reach to her heart and it held in there for a moment, then fled her body in one last warm push. "You remembered that?"

Rachel frowned and kept her eyes ahead, they walked a little further, trotting down stone steps. "I do. You said to me, Finn's going to come knocking on our two storey house and say, hey, remember that time I caught you guys making out on the piano, and like you said you were dating and like I went all crazy on you? That was a funny moment so like I'm really sorry. And I corrected you by saying that we are going to live in a mansion, which by the way, has yet to happen. Where's my mansion, Quinn?"

"I don't know whether I should be surprised that you remember that entire dialogue so effortlessly or that you expect me to buy you a mansion? You make more money than me, Rachel."

"Once your movie is a success the money will be pouring in."

They stopped at a little bar by the water's edge. "You'll get your mansion when I get my flying car."

Rachel pulled out a chair. "I'll hold you to that."

"I don't doubt it."

They sat for a moment staring at the water and Quinn immediately regretted the self-conscious scenic choice of the venue. This was terrible, like a blind date. She fumbled for something to say but Rachel beat her to it,

"Shall we have wine or—"

"Better not, I've sort of stopped." Quinn answered.

"Oh, really? It was only three days ago you were sending drunk letters."

Quinn ducked her head, embarrassed. "You read it all?"

"Well, yeah, how else would I know where to meet you?"

Quinn shrugged. "I thought you would've skipped once you realized how drunk I was."

Rachel blinked hard, shook her head then nudged Quinn's hand with hers. "And miss out on your drunken slur and messy handwriting? Never."

Quinn smiled and nudged Rachel's hand back. "I meant everything I said."

Rachel lightly ran the tips of her fingers across Quinn's. The sensation made her shiver, equivalent to an ice cube running down your back. "I know." She didn't say anything more and Quinn was slightly confused.

Rachel began humming a tune that sounded familiar but she couldn't completely absorb in it because the waitress arrived, and they ordered their drinks. On the table in front of Quinn was a copy of _Howards End_. Warily, Rachel poked it with her finger. "Have you read it yet?"

"Can't get past page three."

"Not funny, Quinn."

"I thought it was alright. I had a difficult time getting invested. I only finished it today on the train." Quinn eyed the book on Rachel's side of the table. "Is that your diary?"

She moved it closer towards her, as if embarrassed it was out in view for the public. "Yeah."

"Why are you reading it?"

"To get familiar with my memories."

Quinn rummaged through her bag and took out a pen. "Sign it for me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"No, I want it."

"This is private, Quinn. I can't just give it to you."

"Sure you can. It's not like I haven't read it."

"That's an invasion of privacy. Write your own diary." Rachel poured some sugar into her cup of coffee. After she took a sip there was a line of foam on her top lip and Quinn wanted to lean in and lick it.

She shook the thought of out her head and poked Rachel with the pen. "Come on, Rach, let me have it. Sign it for me."

"And why do you want my signature on this particular book?"

"2012 was our year. A good year," she said, pretending to need to use the restroom. "Write something personal with today's date, in case you get even more famous than you already are and I need the cash."

"A napkin works just as well."

"Yes, but I can't tell people that this is Rachel Berry's personal diary. Trust me, Rach, it'll make me rich one day."

In the small cubicle, Quinn stood and wondered how long she can keep this up. At some point they would need to talk, it was insane to tip-toe around the subject like this. She flushed the toilet for effect, washed her hands and dried them on her hair, then stepped back out onto the pavement, where Rachel had just closed the book. She went to read the dedication but Rachel placed her hand over the cover.

"When I'm not around, please."

Quinn placed it in her bag. They both stared out into the water again, watching the wind blow it into light ripples. Rachel hummed that tune again, it sounded extremely familiar, especially the further she hummed. Then Quinn heard her mumbling softly, _Stay stay stay, I've been loving you for quite some time_ _time time_.

Quinn leaned across the table. "So. How's things?"

"Fantastic, actually. Every show has been sold out so far. I'm loving every minute of the strenuous work."

"Have you spoken to anyone else?"

"Kurt mostly. Santana and Brittany have come around a few times. I'm glad everyone is no longer bitter about me holding them hostage."

"Until you do something else." Quinn laughed.

Rachel wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "I don't miss this at all."

"Oh, come on, Rach, you miss me teasing you. It's amusing—"

"For you."

Quinn examined Rachel's features and the other girl blushed from her intense gaze. Quinn saw a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. "You know, one time, we were sitting at a cafe in L.A overlooking the water, just like this. I was teasing you—"

"As you do."

"I think it was about how short your skirt was—"

"It can tend to get quite hot in L.A."

"So I'm there teasing you and laughing to myself because you were pouting and out of nowhere this pigeon flies by knocking over my drink and it spilled on my jeans, making it seem as though I had wet my pants and then it takes off with my piece of fish. I had to walk home like that."

Rachel started to laugh. It was kind of electric, like sinking yourself into a great song and immersing yourself to the lullaby. Quinn continued, "You never let me live it down. For years when we bickered your counter argument was always, remember that time a pigeon stole your food and you wet your pants. You'll just throw it in out of nowhere."

Rachel wiped her eyes careful to not smudge her make-up, half giggling. "Why are you telling me this now? Wouldn't you want me to forget it?"

Quinn played with the straw in her drink. "You'll have something to use against me, seeing as I'm much wittier than you."

"You just like to take pleasure in seeing me pout and whine."

"It's adorable."

Sitting here with Rachel now gave her a sense of pleasure she thought she'd never be able to feel again. It was the apex of anticipation. Being with Rachel was and always will be the high point of her life. For a long time they had been going in two different directions, and now it seems they had met at a crossroad and would be heading into one. Her heart was full of hope. It was a good starting point.

"Tell me about this life of yours, Quinn."

"What about it?"

"If I'm not mistaken," Rachel started counting off on her fingers. "Canada, Mexico, Hawaii, Hong Kong, and now India. If you keep this up you would have traveled the world."

"I don't go for a holiday. My break in India is the longest I've ever had thus far."

"Are you excited about the movie?"

"I'm more excited for this to end. I have one more interview here and then once the movie comes out they'll be more promotions and interviews."

"Honestly, Quinn, for someone who lives such a ravishing life and is great at her job, you're one miserable lady."

Quinn didn't know how to tell her that it was the horror and panic of not having Rachel by her side which made her miserable a lot of the time. The past ten months has given her a startling glimpse into the precarious nature of her independence. But of course, she had to learn to deal with it the hard way.

Rachel grabbed her hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Should we go?" She stood abruptly and grabbed her bag. "I'm staying with you tonight, by the way. Then I guess I'll just stay in your hotel. I checked out of mine this morning." Rachel began walking in the direction of the hotel and Quinn stopped her, "We don't have to go there now."

"I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?"

"Surprise—" Rachel said matter-of-factly. "—to strike or occur with a sudden feeling of wonder or astonishment. Just in case you've forgotten your English."

Quinn rolled her eyes and sniggered. "Shut up, Rachel."

"Are you staying with me in my room?"

They walked the length of the canal. Quinn let her hand slide along the wall. "No, Rachel, I've booked myself a spot outside your bedroom door. They gave me a pillow and a blanket."

"Am I supposed to laugh?"

"It's quite funny."

"But you're not funny."

"I don't know why you can't just admit that I'm funny. We've been together for years. You can't deny it anymore."

"At least some things have remained the same." Rachel said.

"What do you mean?"

"This particular predicament we have here. You've stated that for years I have yet to admit that you're amusing. Which goes to show that if I didn't admit it then, I'm not going to admit now. Lately I feel like every time you tease me, I find myself saying, you're not funny, Quinn."

"You used to say it a lot. Well, you still do now."

"What do you think it is? All these snippets and the unconscious things I find myself saying?"

"I don't know." She honestly didn't. To know that Rachel was remembering _some_ parts of their life was electrifying to say the least. She felt almost high at times. The highest being the time at Santana and Brittany's wedding and hearing Rachel sing the first line to _She Is Love_.

"Do you think I'll ever get it back?"

"I don't know, Rach. Maybe these snippets are all that you're going to get." Quinn curled her arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "There'll be more memories." They walked like this, a little self-consciously but it was easy. The bag in Quinn's hand banged against her leg and she took her arm away when the discomfort became too much.

As they walked, the mood gradually lifted. The blanker of the cloud had broken when they passed a Temple. The city was gaudy, scrappy, full of noise and life. Quinn kept stealing glances at Rachel and whenever she got caught Rachel smiled at her brightly. They continued east along the border of a town, climbing a hill, Quinn pointed to a bar she had gone to when she last visited this town, and she talked about the local history as though she knew everything about Indian culture.

Eventually they turned down a quiet side street, the blinkering sign said _Mootell_. They entered an enclosed courtyard, cluttered and rundown and overlooked by apartments on all sides. Washing hung from rusting balconies, pot plants wilted in the evening sun. The courtyard echoed with the noise of competing TVs and children playing football with a tennis ball, and Quinn found herself falling in love all over again. Rachel was not one to gloat about her notoriety and this was proof of that. Sure, she had her prima donna moments, huge demands, she'd joke about a mansion and being rich, but she was not one to spend hundreds of dollars a day on a room she didn't need. It was the simple things that mattered.

"Wait here." Rachel said and she bounced—adorably— to the front desk and talked in hushed whispers to the man behind it. He smiled and nodded. Quinn saw that Rachel slipped him some money and her first thought was that Rachel had turned to a life of crime, then Rachel was by her side smiling that maddening smile and she was reminded of how in love she is.

"I know this wasn't what you had expected," she said, pressing the light switch which was on a timer. "And I did want to find something more urban and chic that would make you feel better seeing as you spent days in a less than satisfactory room, but this was the only place I could find on such short notice which met my demands on getting your surprise in order. Fifth floor. Sorry."

They began the steep ascent of the wrought-iron stairs, tightly curled and seemingly sheering away from the wall in places. Rachel was suddenly conscious of the fact that Quinn's eyes were exactly eye level with her backside and she began nervously reaching back to her skirt to smooth down creases that weren't there. As they reached the landing of the third floor the timer of the light clocked off, and they found themselves in darkness for a moment, Rachel fumbled behind her to find Quinn's hand and leading her up the stairs until they stood outside a door. In the dim light from the window, they smiled at each other.

"Are you ready?" Rachel said, placing the key in the hole.

"I'm not going to be attacked by pigeons or something, am I?"

The door opened onto a small but pleasant room with scuffed grey-painted floorboards, a small neat desk overlooking the courtyard, a bed in the middle, a large cast-iron affair, quaint and cumbersome like something from a farmhouse. But it was the candles that had her heart bursting and pumping blood vigorously. The tens of glorious purple candles, nestled firmly around the room in iron-cast candle sticks. The windows were cracked open, and the breeze from outside sent the candles billowing. In the far corner of the room laid a plaid blanket, a basket in the middle, and Quinn wanted to cry from joy when she noticed the box of Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.

"Our first date," Rachel began. "You made me a picnic. I know this isn't ideal, I mean, picnics are outside, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise by carrying a basket and a blanket and—"

"I love it." Quinn said, she put her bag by the bed. The evening sunlight shone through the curtains, drawing attention to the artificial picnic in the corner. "Three questions. One, how did you know I was going to come back with you—"

"Call it my psychic—"

"I wouldn't call it that."

"—or just intuition."

Quinn nodded. "Two, how long have these candles been burning for?"

"A while. Which is why I opted for long candles."

"Three. Where did you get these?" She referred to the donuts. "I've been here a week and haven't seen a Krispy Kreme anywhere."

"I paid that nice gentleman at the front to get it for me. Although, I don't know how true to the American donuts they are. For all we know, he could've just gotten regular donuts and put it in a Krispy Kreme box which he probably imported from China."

"What do you remember from that day?" Quinn sat crossed legged on the blanket, rummaging through the basket. Two sandwiches, drinks, cups and strawberries. She really wanted to cry tears of joy now.

Rachel did the same. "I was riding my bike to rehearsals a few weeks back and I saw this couple having a picnic at Central Park. And then I remembered having a picnic with you. You were feeding me the donuts and then we spent the rest of the afternoon kissing. Oh, and Brittany took our strawberries."

"You never used to let me eat these," Quinn said, tearing the donut and putting it in her mouth. "You were still bitter with me for forcing you to eat them that you said—due to that incident and your uncaring nature regarding my diet, I ban you from ever eating it again—of course being me, and not listening, I still had some."

"Which would not have pleased me."

"Nope. It did lead to lots of angry sex, so win-win."

There was a time, not too long ago, when she thought the possibility of rekindling their relationship had dissolved, and she endeavored to harden herself against Rachel's indifference. A remark like that would've caused no more pain, than say, a tennis ball being thrown sharply at her head and it would have no effect on her heart. Right now, the tennis ball turned into a base ball and it was coming thick and fast into her heart. The pain was beautiful.

Rachel laughed. "Do you want to hear about my meeting with Barbra Streisand?"

She placed a finger on her chin. "Do I? I don't think so. No, I don't. I've heard enough of that story."

"I really did meet her this time!"

"No!" She bit into the donut. "If you start talking I'm going to tune you out. That's also another talented skill I possess behind mocking you."

But Rachel told her anyway, the usual narrative about being backstage at an award show and Barbra Streisand had just presented and made her way towards Rachel who stood stock still, eyes bulging, and Quinn made a conscious effort not to listen and just watch her mouth instead. It was a nice mouth and if she were fearless and bold—why did she choose not to get drunk at lunch?—she would lean over and kiss Rachel, and it occurred to her that she's been the one that has always initiated the kisses between them. Not that she minded. She wondered why Rachel never initiated? Perhaps Quinn wasn't kissable? No, that's impossible. Would it be really strange now to kiss Rachel again? What might happen if she were to do it? Rachel would most likely kiss her back. If memory serves her correctly, Rachel hasn't once pushed her away. Take the initiative, put the donut down, hold onto Rachel's head while she's still talking and kiss her—

"—so Barbra calls me an hour later and says, it's so nice to finally hear you talk."

Quinn let her head loll to the window to watch the evening light start to fade now, she heard prosperous people yelling, kids shouting at each other, the smell of burnt barbecues. She looked back to Rachel, still narrating the story of her life, then back at the window as a bird flew by, then another bird joined in and they stood at the window sill talking in bird language and she thought, I wish I could speak bird language so I can join in on your conversation.

"You're not even listening to me!"

"Yeah, I stopped listening a while ago."

Rachel flung her arms in the air in frustration. "You're impossible to deal with."

Quinn grinned. "Do you want to see photos of my adventures?"

"No." She huffed.

"I've spent three months listening to you—"

"We haven't exactly spoken in three months."

"Let me rephrase. Every time we've spoken in the past three months you always tell me that story and I think it's time you pretended to be interested in my life."

"Fine. Show me." Rachel straightened out her skirt and swiped through the pictures on Quinn's phone.

Quinn watched her as she sat biting her lip, she'd mumble, wow and oh that's so cool and I can't believe you went there. At often times, Quinn would sit quietly and watch her laugh or tell a story or reading a book and feel absolutely sure that Rachel was the most adorable person she's ever met. Sometimes she almost wanted to interrupt her and say it out of the blue. But this wasn't one of those times. They had tip-toed around the topic long enough, and feeling slightly confident, she reached for Rachel's hand and said,

"We should be together, Rachel. I love you."

Rachel stared at her in awe. "I suppose we should discuss your letter."

"That was the idea."

"Okay," Rachel went to retrieve something from her bag, continuing to sing the song as she searched through it. _You think that it's funny when I'm mad mad mad. But I think that it's best if we both stay stay stay_. Where had she heard that from?

When she came back, Quinn's eleven page letter was in her hands and their knees bumped when she sat back down. "First point of order. I had a very difficult time reading your letter. Grammatically—"

"Here we again with the grammar errors."

"I didn't know when to stop or inhale a breath."

"You got through it either way."

"It was difficult."

"I was drunk. Second point."

Rachel rummaged through the pages. "Second point of order. Dronk is not a word."

"Yes, I do know English."

"I'm not sure you do, Quinn."

"Next point."

"Third point. I love the poetic sentence you wrote. I didn't know you had it in you," she teased, and was serious again. "It's hard for me to understand your feelings. I can't imagine being in your shoes and having to watch the love of your life forgetting everything in regards to your relationship."

"The same applies to me," Quinn said. "It's gotta be harder on you. Losing five years and finding out that you're married to me, no less."

"It wasn't that bad."

"You were quite shocked, Rach. I should've taken a photo," she laughed. "Next point."

Rachel's smile was warm. "Fourth point. I did something to help with the memories," she handed Quinn a piece of paper with a timeline and underneath were little descriptions. "I've been getting sporadic memories. The latest one being our first date. So I decided to make a timeline and what I've noticed is that I only seem to be getting memories from 2012."

"What's this one?" Quinn pointed to the date _2014_ on the paper.

"Oh, that was, I might be wrong, a dream I had on opening night of _Avenue Q_ and you came to see me right after your finals. You drove me home and said, do you really think I wouldn't come—"

"That was real."

"Oh okay, well, other than that, the rest have all been from 2012. I don't understand why?"

Quinn let her head fall backwards, resting it against the wall. "Maybe next year your memories will be of 2013, then 2014 the next year. I don't know how this works."

"If that's the case, and I'm assuming that when I do get my memories back it'll be sporadic, it might take years to remember everything."

"Yeah," Quinn said to the ceiling. "It might never happen."

Rachel placed her hand on top of Quinn's. "Fifth point of order. I think about you all the time, too. At the beginning it was friendly thoughts. The moment I fell in love with you it's increasingly become... intimate."

"Example?"

"Right now. Your shirt is low and your neck is exposed and I want to bite into it." Rachel's face remained as straight as ever. "I also want to kiss you."

"Why don't you?" Quinn sat up to decrease the distance between them. "Kiss me."

"I don't want to yet."

Quinn frowned and pouted. "Why not?"

"I'm not going to want to stop. And I have a flight to catch in a few hours. Now," Rachel pushed at Quinn's shoulder to increase their gap. "This is more important."

"I'm that irresistible."

"Hardly." Rachel's eyes said differently.

"Sixth point."

"Sixth point. I can't make any promises to grow up—"

"You seem wiser. This—" Quinn waved the paper in her hand. "—is twenty-two year old Rachel's doing. You're making a timeline in order to put the pieces together. Not only that, you've been reading your diary to distinguish the exact day and event."

"But I'm going to reverse back. That's what you're afraid of."

"We'll get through it."

"I'm afraid you're going to leave me. I've been scared since high school. The fear first started when your mom found out about us, then at one point you broke up with me. I didn't write much else. All I had written was: _Quinn broke up with me today. I've always been afraid this would happen_." Rachel looked so unhappy trying to smile back at her. The light from the candles made her pinned pupils disappear. Rachel drew her knees to her chest. "I think it's my biggest fear, Quinn. Even during our fall-out. I didn't know how to quell the despondence and foreboding when you left."

Quinn pulled Rachel into her and Rachel slumped into her arms, her side pressing into Quinn's chest, head on shoulder. She could feel Rachel's breaths on her neck. She knew of Rachel's fears—she had read her diary one time. Not the most conventional way to know your girlfriend's secret—which was why she didn't leave when her mom found out, also the reason she convinced her mom to meet Rachel, and the reason Quinn serenaded Rachel in high school. Other times there was a fury, the sweat would come quickly, with a hot flush running through her body, and she knew that that something in her stomach was uncoiling. Once it raged, it left her cold and shaking.

Every now and again Quinn would drift into a state of delirium where all the wrong she has done would haunt her mind. She'd stare out the window and watch the world unfold to ease her thoughts. But it was hard to focus on anything other than the terrible fact that when her other side took over, she'd lose control. It sat like a stone in her stomach.

Rachel reached out to squeeze her hand and lifted her head from Quinn's chest. "But you always came back."

Quinn was feeling a bundle of nerves and need. She stroked Rachel's hair for a while. "We promised each other a long time ago. I'll always come back for you."

They sat like that for a while. Rachel in her arms, the candles melting slowly. "I really think we can do this, Rach," Quinn rubbed her hand along Rachel's neck and shoulder. "I know it'll be hard. But I'm sure it'll be like a bridge, and once we're over it, it'll be okay."

"Can you describe what's over the other side of the bridge?" She asked.

Quinn stared out the window and coincidentally there was a cloud that looked like a ship. She imagined the ship sitting on the bay from the city docks. The ship was connected to a world that could answer the question. How do men build ships?

"I don't think I can describe it. But whatever it is, it'll be a place where the accident won't defy our lives, we can get back to really loving each other, more than we used to, without anything in-between," her mind was drifting into the unfamiliar territory of hope. "People say it's always greener on the other side, that's probably true for us. It'll be more peaceful—"

"It'll be peaceful once you stop teasing me." Rachel's laughter mingled with Quinn's, the sound of it raw and genuine.

"That's unlikely to ever happen." Quinn kissed the top of her head. "Have you made all your points?"

"No—"

"Typical."

"Seventh point." Rachel remained in Quinn's arms, she was beginning to feel a cramp coming on. She decided to endure the pain instead. "I cannot leave my job, and neither can you. Eighth point. I don't think it's wise to move back in together just yet."

Quinn saw that one coming, so she used the rehearsed excuse, "I was drunk."

"Yes, I've noticed."

She wriggled her leg from under Rachel's to stop the cramp. No luck. "My turn. Ninth point," Quinn said. "You have to remember that we're going to be apart a lot. This spontaneous idea I had? It doesn't happen often. In fact, never. The only time I've told you to drop everything and come see me is to New Haven, I've never told you to fly to another country for me before." Rachel finally shuffled her leg and Quinn's leg resumed pumping blood again. Quinn continued, "It took us two years to deal with the distance. And with your play getting more attention and me flying around countries, it's hard to be together."

"I know. That's what I'm afraid of."

"We should have a system."

"Like?

"When you act childish and selfish and needy, I have permission to yell at you."

"You yell at me regardless of the situation so I don't know how successful that system will be."

"Okay, fine, but Rachel," they faced each other, Quinn stroked her hair as she talked. "I can't always be there for you physically, but I'll always be there no matter what time it is. That's how we used to deal with it. You'd call or I'd call you at ridiculous hours because we had a bad day. And you'd listen to me talk, you'd say things that didn't really help but hearing your voice certainly made me feel better." The sun was setting and the candles lit the room of shadows. Quinn found it perplexing. "It never gets easier. We make the moments we're together count and it's much more special."

Rachel stared deeply into Quinn's eyes, then it dipped down to her mouth, she ran her bottom lip between her teeth. She leaned up and Quinn thought she was finally about to get her much rewarded kiss but Rachel placed her mouth within a whisper of Quinn's and said, "I'm going to shower before my flight."

Quinn exhaled in frustration, not missing the way Rachel seductively licked her lips before closing the bathroom door. She sat staring at the doorknob trying to compose herself before crossing the room to the small fridge and turning the light on in the process. She was going for the bottle of water but grabbed the beer instead, and noticed the bathroom door had swung open.

There was no shower curtain, and she could see Rachel standing side on beneath the cold water, eyes closed against the spray, head back, arms raised. But oh god, Rachel was turning now, and the bottle of beer slipped through her hand and exploded, fizzing and foaming, propelling itself nosily around the floor. She threw a towel over it as if capturing some wild rodent, then looked up to see Rachel with a towel loosely wrapped around her.

"Slipped out of my hand." She said, stamping the beer foam into the towel and _not_ thinking about getting Rachel into bed.

Rachel frowned in confusion, grabbed a change of clothes and went back into the bathroom. The door swung open again and Quinn could not for the life of her turn her eyes away. She watched the wriggle of Rachel's hips as she pulled on her underwear, the concave curve of her back and arch shoulder blades as she fastened her bra, the raised arms and the blue summer dress coming down like a curtain.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?" Quinn had moved to the window and pretended to be mesmerized by the city. She had thoughts of doing explicit things to naked Rachel.

"We should go now. From here to the airport is about two hours."

She slumped her forehead on the window and pushed out a breath. "Okay."

They caught the train to Delhi airport. What amazed Quinn the most about India were the lights. It seemed to pour from all directions at once, forming gleaming points on every window and leaf, heightening colors to surreal intensity. The outskirts of the city fell away, leaving countryside, barns, houses painted in bright pastels and white trim.

Rachel was singing again. _And I love you because you have given me no choice but to, stay stay stay. I've been loving you for quite some time time time._

"What song is that?" Quinn asked.

"I have no idea," Rachel said. "I can't get it out of my head. Do you know it?"

"Sounds familiar." Why could she not figure it out?

They resumed staring out the window and Rachel pointed to some sights she had researched: the old and new painting museums, the university where they teach a course in translating English. Quinn gave them only passing attention. Mostly she looked at Rachel, filled with wonderment. There was a slight greasy sheen on her nose, her mouth still moving even though Quinn was certain Rachel knew she wasn't paying attention to her chatter, dark skin beneath the eyes that looked almost bruised, a badge of honor from all the late night rehearsals and deliberately staying up late. She had one of those faces where you were aware of the bones beneath the skin, as if even her skull would be attractive.

"You stare at me a lot, Quinn." Rachel said sheepishly.

Whatever happened between them in the past, whatever the future holds, whatever rows and repercussions loomed, Quinn knew very well that she will never want to kiss Rachel more than she does in this moment. "Explain again why you're unable to kiss me?"

Rachel seemed to be struggling for an answer. Quinn said, "Just one, Rachel."

"We're in public."

"That's never stopped us before."

"You said that they're not very accommodating to lesbians here."

"No one's even on this carriage."

Rachel didn't answer or comment; she was too busy staring at Quinn's lips. For a moment, however, it _did _look like she wanted to say something, something witty and cutting, but then she changed her mind and pressed her lips together, staring out the window again.

Quinn flung herself back onto the seat and resumed staring at Rachel. This time, Rachel had a wide smile on her face throughout the entire train ride.

Rachel's plane was due to leave at 11:15 p.m. Quinn anxiously checked her watch every five minutes hoping that time would stop. She was breathing so hard she couldn't speak. Her heart was beating so loudly she couldn't hear anything. Everywhere she looked she saw bilingual signs, neon lights that made her dizzy, people scampering back and forth, in and out of duty free stores, even the thought of duty free shopping couldn't do anything to ease her anxiety. All these things would've been bearable, funny even, in her normal life, her real life, back in New York. With Rachel. That sounded good.

She hated this part. Why didn't she just buy a ticket to go home?

She saw Rachel coming back from check-in and she got up from her seat. "Hey, Rach, I'll go home with you."

Rachel was touched, and said nervously, "You can't do that, Quinn."

"Why not?"

"Because you have an interview in two days."

"I've done enough interviews. I'll just tell Kelly I got food poisoning or something."

"Quinn," her hand cupped the side of Quinn's face fondly. "You can't do that for me."

"You came all the way here for me."

"Yes, but I don't have prior commitments."

"You haven't slept in almost nineteen hours."

"I can sleep on the plane."

"I—" She stopped herself not knowing what else to say. Was all this worth it, all this work and commitment? Maybe they could just _not_ spend so much time apart. That's it! Starting today, turn over a new leaf. Avoid this kind of pain, get it under control.

Her stomach was rumbling with so much anticipation she didn't register Rachel stepping towards her until their lips were together. Rachel kissed the life out of her, firing her blood, igniting her senses. She could very well become addicted to this (again), she thought dazedly. Rachel's lips were soft, the perfect contrast to the hard battle of supremacy their tongues waged.

Suddenly, Rachel pulled back, her breathing ragged and unsteady. "We'll see each other in a few days. I'll even pick you up from the airport."

She smiled slowly, though how she was capable of the action when all she felt was dread she didn't know. She hated this part.

They walked around the duty free stores hand in hand. People glared at them, Quinn glared back, Rachel laughed. Rachel pulled a skirt off the rack from a clothing store, she examined the fabric, soft and pleasing to touch. The pattern was a bizarre swirl of clashing rainbow colors. Rachel held it up to ask for Quinn's opinion, who shook her head instantly, and Rachel pouted. A salesgirl came towards them, leaning in close to Rachel and caressing her forearm, pretending to look at the weird, patterned skirt. Quinn grunted and pulled her out of the store.

"That was rude, Quinn."

"She was flirting."

"I was asking for her opinion—"

"You asked me for my opinion and I said no. Maybe you should take that into consideration."

Around them groups of grim-faced accepting Americans gripped their hand-luggage and proceeded wearily towards their security check. Quinn and Rachel sat near the front of the security check, seeing as Quinn wasn't allowed in. The seats were packed with expectant passengers but their frustration and rage had turned into exhaustion, resigned collapse. Rachel was once again reading her book _The Fault In Our Stars_. Quinn watched in disgust the couple across from her kissing aggressively, the woman kneeling astride the man, his arms flung back in surrender, their fingers interlocked.

Rachel nudged her hard in the ribs. "It's rude to stare, Quinn."

"They should get a room," Quinn turned her body to face Rachel. "Oh, so hey, I haven't told you what I found on the internet regarding us."

Rachel closed her book and forced it into her bag. "I'm listening. Was it an article? What did this so called journalist have to say?"

"Don't journalists write in newspapers and stuff?"

"I don't know. Aren't they all journalists?"

"No, a magazine writer is a publicist."

"No, a publicist generates and manages publicity for a celebrity, or for work such as a book or film. You should know this Quinn. You're in the business."

Quinn snorted in amusement. "I certainly don't think I have a publicist."

"You probably do. It's all behind-the-scenes stuff. He could be taking half your money and you wouldn't even know."

"Oh geez, thanks for making me feel better about where my money goes."

"You'll need one when you pull a Lindsay Lohan and have to resurrect your career."

Quinn laughed so loud everyone turned to stare at her. "Are you calling me a delinquent?"

"You _are_ friends with Santana Lopez. Anything's possible."

Continuing to stare at each other, Quinn thought that Rachel's soft expression was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Something she couldn't read glowed in those electric eyes. Her heart thumped in her chest. "Anyway, back to my story. It wasn't an article. Stop interrupting—"

"I wouldn't if you'd just get—"

"So I was surfing the web," Quinn said rather loudly to cut Rachel off.

"I don't think anyone uses that phrase anymore. And how did you come across it?"

"I—it just happened..."

"How can it just happen?"

"When you go on the net these things happen."

"You were Googling yourself?" Rachel's mouth curled into a wide grin when Quinn didn't reply. "I thought I was conceited."

Quinn tried to level her with a glare, but it was hard since it was soaked with love. They both burst into another round of laughter. When it subsided, she said, "Yes, so I Googled myself, okay? Everyone does. It's like taboo to admit it or something. Like masturbating."

Rachel laughed until her sides hurt. "Are you saying that you masturbate, Quinn?"

"Why would I?" She asked as if it were the most ridiculous question in the world. "I have you."

"You didn't have me for three months."

"That one time we had sex was enough to hold me off."

"According to my diary, you have the stamina of a fourteen year old boy. I find it hard to believe you could hold off for three months."

Quinn laughed again. She might be dreading their goodbye which was due to happen in another half an hour, but right now, joking with Rachel, life had never seemed more ripe with promise. "Are you going to let me tell this story?"

"Okay, no more interruptions."

"People write fan fiction about us. Isn't that cool?"

"You're telling me that you Googled your name and out came a fan fiction website, and you eased your curious mind by clicking on it?"

"Something like that. They call us _Faberry_. I've read some. There's a lot of really good ones."

Rachel leaned back in her seat. "What kind of stories involving you and I? And why are you even reading fan fiction about yourself?"

"I'm egocentric. I guess being around you has rubbed off on me." Quinn winked.

"First of all, Quinn, I do not read fan fiction. Although, if I did I would most likely grammatically criticize a lot of them—"

"Of course."

"—secondly, I cannot read fan fiction even if I wished to as I'm somewhat of a perfectionist and will most likely leave comments to the author criticizing their work. Which in turn will stop them from writing fan fiction about me. So it's best I not read anything fan-dedicated."

"Basically you'll just be criticizing everyone who has dedicated their words to you."

"Precisely."

"There's this really good one where we haven't seen each other in years and you're a famous star who's kind of had a bad patch in your career, so you went to a strip club and I work there."

"You're a stripper?"

"In the story, yes."

"How did that feel reading about you being a stripper?"

"I didn't _read_ it—"

"Oh, I beg to differ, Quinn. I think you _read_ it and you _enjoyed_ it."

Quinn leaned over and her lips brushed Rachel's ear. "I'll strip for you."

Rachel turned her head and her mouth melted under Quinn's, warmth with familiarity and her breath came faster. Quinn kissed her way down the smooth curve of Rachel's neck and felt the other girl sigh. "Quinn, we should—"

"I know," she said, not making any attempts to stop. She moved up to kiss Rachel again, wanting her so much that she couldn't let go.

An announcement came over the airport public address system asking for travelers on the next Royal Jordanian flight to Los Angeles and New York to proceed to their gate. The confirmation acted as a balm on the exhausted travelers around Quinn and Rachel, and everyone began to talk excitedly amongst each other.

"That's me." Rachel said.

Quinn lost her breath and put her forehead on the other girl's shoulder. "I really hate this."

Rachel looked like she was about to cry. So Quinn said, "Are you okay? What is it?" Given the circumstances, it was a supremely stupid question.

Rachel reached for her hand, acknowledging what was about to happen. Quinn found herself counting down the minutes. There was a stitch on her side as though she had ran for miles, and an electric tingle in her fingertips and now Rachel was pulling her into a hug and they stood like that for what seemed like forever and Quinn really wished she could stop time. Everyone stared at them. They ignored it. Keep hugging, whatever happens do not let go. Then the announcement came again and all the hope fell out of her. It was like running into a brick wall.

Quinn kissed the top of Rachel's head. "It'll be okay." She had a real limited repertoire when it came to dealing with emotional situations. It was worse in times of stress or nerves.

"I don't want to go." Rachel said into Quinn's neck.

Quinn was thinking, I don't want you to go either. How about we just go back to the hotel and stay there for the rest of our lives? She should have said, We can do this, I'll see you in a couple of days. I love you. But instead she said, "It's okay, it'll be okay." Which is not the same thing. "You should go, Rach. You'll miss your flight." Incredible the things we say. She wiped Rachel's tears. She hated seeing Rachel cry. She had a hard time holding back her own tears.

Quinn stepped out from their bubble of embrace and raised her hand in a waving gesture. "You should go, Rach."

Rachel picked up her hand-luggage and bit her lip nervously before nodding. "Turn around at the same time?"

"One, two, three."

Quinn turned and started to walk away, baby steps. She was angry about everything. Angry with the world and angry at why they had to always be separating. She hated this. It never got easier. It should be easy by now. It was totally unnecessary. She had no idea what to do with her anger. All she knew was that she felt, or everything felt, hopeless and miserable. The airport seemed to hum with a terrible starkness.

She walked on. The exit sign was coming into view when she heard footsteps, the soles of smart shoes slapping hard onto the floor behind her, and even before she heard her name and turned she was smiling because she knew it would be Rachel.

Rachel jumped into her arms, crushing her lungs. She should probably get her ribs checked when she has a chance. They settled into each other, safe, warm and satisfied. Rachel pulled back slightly and said, "Tell me you love me."

All the despair left her, replaced with an edge of contentment, even enthusiasm. "I love you."

"Call me, or I'll call you," Rachel said. "But one of us has to call, yes? It's not a competition. You don't lose if you call first."

"Yes, Rachel, I'll call you."

Rachel said, "I love you," and put one hand on the back of Quinn's neck, and simultaneously Quinn placed one hand on her hip, and they kissed in the middle of the airport as all around them people hurried home in the bright light, and it was the sweetest kiss either of them had ever known.

"So, I should go." Rachel said, walking slowly backwards.

"I'll see you in a couple of days."

"I'll find you at the airport." Rachel turned on her heels and ran towards the security check.

On the train, Quinn read the dedication Rachel had written in her diary.

_Quinn, I can't seem to get this song out of my head. _You think that it's funny when I'm mad mad mad. __But I think that it's best if we both stay stay stay. Funny, isn't it, how much it relates to you and I? Does it ring a bell to you? __

__I should not have written that first paragraph. Now I can't erase it because this book will be ruined. What to say? I love you? I miss you? Too sentimental. The fact of me being here is enough sentiment for one day. So um, your letter was very heartwarming. We should really talk about it but I'm kind of nervous, but hopefully a little later on. I'm glad I came. I'm even more grateful you came and met me. Sometimes with your sarcasm (which I find hard to understand) I can never know whether you're serious or not. __You're taking a very long time in that restroom, I hope you didn't fall in.____

__I really do love you.  
>1021/2016.__

_Rachel Barbra Berry._

The song hit her then. Quinn was remembering that moment, serenading to Rachel in front of the whole school. It seemed like a lifetime ago. They were really in love and had oodles of hope. The future was gleaming again. Happiness rushed all over her. It felt so foreign.

Like she said, her heart was full of hope. It was a good starting point.


	13. Chapter 13

**There's not going to be much on the past anymore because I feel as though that story has finished. Thanks for all the comments, favorites all that stuff :)**

* * *

><p><em>Someone once asked me what it felt like to love you<br>They may have as well have asked me to describe the taste of water  
>So, in turn, I asked them to live in absence of it<br>You can get by without it for a day or so  
>You may even survive without it for a week<br>But eventually, the body will begin to wither away  
>And so the idea of living without water<br>Is equivalent of not loving you—  
><em>_Impossible_

_—_Anonymous

**•••**

**November 21st, 2016**

"Are you home?"

"Indeed I am. Where are you?"

"Waiting for the elevator."

"So."

"So."

"That's it? You're not going to say anything more?"

"We'll talk afterwards."

"Quinn, if you only came here for sex—"

"Of course, I did. Why else—"

"I'm not letting you in."

"Good thing I kept the keys, then."

Quinn shut off her phone when she reached Rachel's apartment. From her bag produced an immense set of keys, and began work on a complex of locks. It had been four months since she last stepped foot into her old apartment; the act was bittersweet. Rachel was standing a few feet away from the door when Quinn opened it. The scowl on Rachel's face, along with arms folded, should've been enough to frighten her, but she sensed a layer of anticipation in the way Rachel was staring at her. Rachel seemed confident, more assured than the last time they met, and again Quinn felt a slight shock at seeing her. It was different now, newer feelings, not simply memories anymore. If anything, Quinn's attraction to Rachel had grown stronger over the past month than it ever did over the past few years, more intense, and it made her feel a little nervous in Rachel's presence. It was now exactly a month since they've last seen each other—at the airport in Delhi—it was impossible to not feel abuzz with excitement.

Quinn held her breath as Rachel continued to stare at her. Even the whole room seemed to hold its breath. A thin beam of sunlight slipped past the curtains over the window, illuminating Rachel's bronze skin. A gentle breeze caused the curtains to dance over them, circle them in a wispy, private heaven. Her pulse leaped. She stepped forward; Rachel's warm, soapy scent enveloped her. Leaning in for a kiss, Rachel decided _that_ seemed to be the right time to start talking,

"I don't like this whole arrangement. We haven't seen each other in a month due to all the stress of our careers and you show up out of nowhere expecting me to _put out_—"

"I told you I was coming over yesterday."

"Regardless. I am a young, competent, bluestocking—"

Quinn wasn't really sure what a bluestocking was, but nevertheless still felt a twinge of arousal at the word 'stocking'. As Rachel talked, Quinn pictured her wearing blue stockings before deciding blue stockings wouldn't suit her, or anyone in fact, and that stockings should really only ever be black or possibly white like those ones Rachel used to wear in high school which hid her long, toned legs, and then decided that maybe she was missing the point about the phrase 'bluestockings'. This kind of erotic reverie occupied great swatches of Quinn's mental energy, and she wondered if perhaps Rachel was right, perhaps she was a little too distracted by the sexual side of things. Her defence is that they haven't seen each other in a month and they haven't had sex in four months. Rachel's career heightened in the past month, her reputation strengthened after the interview on national television and soon the demands for her attention increased. Quinn however, spent the past month relaxing and enjoying a vacation locked up in her apartment doing nothing but sleep, except the occasional phone calls to Rachel. Surely in a moment like this it was natural to feel as if she'd just got out of prison, which in all honesty, if you think about it, she really did just get out of prison. Prison being her apartment.

Concentrate. Someone she cared for dearly was engaged in some kind of nervous collapse, and she should concentrate on that, rather than tearing Rachel's pants off, needing skin-to-skin contact. The softness of her body, or how her name would sound on Rachel's lips as she found her pleasure. Concentrate, Quinn! She steered her thoughts away from the subject of sex, her brain nimble as an aircraft carrier. She watched Rachel pace around the room, her mouth still moving but Quinn_ really_ couldn't concentrate on the words. And she really would, she _should_, except she had so much happening in her brain at present.

"Are you listening to me, Quinn?" Rachel was looking at her with frank disgust.

"Of course I am."

"What did I just say?"

"You were talking about being a bluestocking—"

"That was ten minutes ago!" She said bitterly.

Quinn covered her nervousness with laughter. "Well, I seem to have lost my short term memory at the moment—"

"We're not having sex today."

"How do you know that?"

"A wise old gypsy told me."

"You went to a wise old gypsy in your free time?"

"Yes, I did."

"And how did you manage to do that with all the interviews and attention you've been getting?"

"I have a body double. She does my interviews for me while I sneak away to deal with personal issues." Rachel's lips twitched and Quinn felt her heart skip a beat. She looked so relaxed just then, so sexy. She loved it when Rachel lost her reserve and simply enjoyed the moment. Rachel hasn't allowed herself to do that very often these weeks.

Then Quinn was kissing her, and Rachel kissed her back, feeling the weeks of separation dissolve into passion. Quinn forgot about everything, her only thoughts consisted of Rachel and that wicked mouth. Without slowing the kiss, Quinn pushed her onto the couch and peeled away her clothes as if the idea of Rachel not being naked was a stupid idea. It was almost slow motion as their naked bodies finally came together, both of them trembling. The last time Quinn had Rachel naked, she was drunk, now that she was sober she noticed Rachel respond in anticipation at her every touch. She kissed every part of Rachel's body, listening as she made soft, whimpering sounds.

The friction of her thigh between Rachel's leg almost caused her to go off like a rocket. Quinn paused while Rachel nipped at her jawbone, her neck, and she blinked. Quinn pulled back, searching Rachel's gaze. Then, she slowly grinned,

"You smell like daisies when you're turned on."

Rachel stilled, confused, "I don't understand what you're implying."

Quinn's smile widened. "I can't believe I only figured this out."

"What?" Her cheeks heated.

"This," Quinn laughed with genuine amusement. "Since high school you've smelt like daisies every time I'm around."

"Maybe that's due to my perfume. Have you ever thought of that?" Her eyes narrowed and she licked her lips seductively.

"At first that's what I thought, but you haven't used that perfume since the accident."

Heat flared in Rachel's eyes, melting like chocolate fondue. "Are you going to finish this or continue talking? Just for that, you're going to be punished."

"How? Spanking?"

Rachel sounded so eager, Quinn almost laughed. "Much worse, Quinn. If you don't do something now, _you_ won't be getting any orgasms."

Quinn swooped in and gave her another tongue-thrusting kiss. Her hands and fingers frantically worked over Rachel's body, plumping her breasts, caressing between her legs. Within minutes, Rachel was writhing and moaning her name. Quinn licked her way down the body of the girl beneath her, her own stomach quivering. Without pause or breath, Quinn drove her tongue into the heart of Rachel. Rachel had to bite down on her tongue to cut off screams, causing sultry, hungry moans of total abandon to emerge. Her tongue continued to torment Rachel, making her ache and claw at Quinn's shoulders.

Two hours later, they slumped back atop the yellow sheets on the bed. Deep breath in, deep breath out—another deep breath gradually released. Very slowly, Quinn's mind faded to black. Her body relaxed into the mattress. She was very aware of a deliciously naked Rachel beside her, who was however, very awake. Three orgasms (each) later and she was still awake? That was very unlike her. Maybe Quinn was losing her touch? The energy centered inside her stomach, swirling and pushing for sleep. Rachel had other ideas; she traced her hand down Quinn's body, letting her fingers graze just above her stomach.

Quinn didn't speak for several minutes, staring at the ceiling blankly, and just as Rachel's hand dipped lower, she said, "You cannot be serious."

Rachel fingered several strands of Quinn's hair between her fingers. "What happened to your fourteen year-old male alter ego?" Rachel's husky voice sent a shiver through her.

"Our friends are coming over soon."

"Two hours is a long time." Rachel nipped her ear, and whispered, "If my calculations are correct, which they always are, one hour can release three more orgasms. So imagine two."

Her body was exhausted, but unwilling to stop. She reached over, allowing her fingers to caress Rachel's chest. Rachel's bare skin glowed in the sunlight, Quinn's hair draped over them like a blanket, playing peekaboo with Rachel's nipples. Rachel sucked in a breath, and her muscles jerked beneath Quinn's touch. Rachel squeezed her back, her body arched, she bit the cord of Quinn's neck to contain her moans. Quinn's mind began chanting incoherent thoughts as she floated to the stars.

It was relentless, a powerful confirmation of what they had shared just hours before. They went on throughout the hour, alternatively stopping to catch their breaths and it would start again in long sequences, one after another. Occasionally, Quinn would simply stare at Rachel, her body spent and radiant, and feel as if everything were suddenly right in this world.

Afterward they lay together. Rachel rolled to her side wrapping an arm around Quinn's waist. A sensuous spell around them. Quinn could stay there forever. She knew somewhere in her orgasm-induced coma that she should be getting up and ready for when their friends arrive, but her body was thrumming with a sensual remembrance. She soaked in Rachel's lingering scent and let the softness of the sheets caress her. Her skin felt over-sensitized, her thighs bruised, she was drooping towards slack-jawed unconsciousness.

Later, the sound of broken glass and scattered objects tumbling to the ground woke her with a start. She reached over for Rachel, but she was gone. Her head propped up slightly at the sound of the glass being swept into a dust pan. She forced herself out of bed, her muscles screamed in protest but she managed to stay upright, fumbling on her clothes. Her mind was still wrapped in a hazy cocoon.

With her movements slow and halting, she manoeuvred down the hall and peeked into the bathroom when she heard scattering. Rachel was on the ground dusting the broken glass surrounded by the many fallen objects: toothbrushes, tooth paste, pill bottles, combs. Suddenly, Quinn was full of energy. She rushed over to kneel in front of Rachel,

"What happened?"

Rachel continued to sweep. "I was just careless."

Quinn placed the items on the floor neatly in the cabinet and their designated areas. Rachel stood unsteadily for a moment before throwing the broken glass into the bin. She quickly tipped two tablets into her hand and drunk it with tap water. If Quinn weren't still in her hazy cocoon, she would've noticed Rachel completing the action as though her life depended on it.

Quinn eyed her suspiciously. She never drank tap water. "Rach, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she wiped her mouth with a towel. "I just have a headache."

Quinn took the pill bottle out of her hand. "Flunarizine," she read. "This isn't regular over-the-counter tablets."

"It's stronger."

"For what?" Quinn followed her into the kitchen.

"I've just been having quite a few headaches lately. I think it's due to all the stress over the past month."

Quinn's lips lingered on her temple. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"Isn't that what you're here for?"

"I can't look after you all the time, Berry."

Quinn wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but since being back in Rachel's arms, life had suddenly become one long mini-break. If you were to ask her eleven months ago what Rachel Berry is like the only answer she'd be able to give is: she's the kind of woman that would look perfectly at home with her arms draped around a unicorn. This is because for years she's never spent time _examining_ Rachel's features or taken the time to appreciate how much she's grown from the ambitious diva she once was. Quinn just found herself one day in love with not only Rachel but her personality. If you were to ask her now what Rachel Berry is like she would shake her head and blow air through her mouth and say that she has the most desirable traits, like intelligence, confidence, strength of spirit, passion, traits that inspired others to greatness.

Rachel smiled at her from across the table and Quinn realized that she's no longer in love with twenty-two year-old Rachel, she's in love with _this_ version of Rachel. They're one and the same, sure, but this Rachel talks a lot more than she used to and she uses words that Quinn is sure aren't even real at times, her ears stick out a bit, just a tiny bit, she's frequently quite stern, with a face that usually frowns a lot or sometimes rolls her eyes at some stupid thing Quinn has said or done. If it were any other person Quinn might have found these qualities discouraging but as she looked at Rachel seated across from her in their apartment surrounded by their friends, her perfect little chin resting on her hand, talking about something like she usually always is, the light overhead glowing her face, she finds Rachel completely hypnotic. She's so mesmerized from staring at Rachel that she's momentarily unable to concentrate on what is being said.

"So what have _you_ been doing, Quinn?" Kurt asked from the far end of the table; looking birdlike and aloof in cashmere beige.

Unhearing, Quinn continued to gaze at Rachel, who raised her eyebrows now in warning. _This_ Rachel seemed to do that a lot. Another item on the list. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Kurt asked you a question?"

"I'm sorry, miles away."

"Showing your gayness has always been one of your best traits." Santana said, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

Quinn threw her a glare and cleared her throat, "Mind your own business, Santana." She drew in a deep breath and tried not to be distracted by the fact that Rachel was braless under her red jersey dress. Through little smirks and twinkles passed between herself and Santana, she knew she was not going to hear the end of this once they were alone. There was silence at the table. Was she meant to keep talking? "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"I wondered what you were up to these days." Kurt asked patiently. He acted as though this were a job interview for the post of Rachel's girlfriend.

"Well, I haven't done much in the past month. Those interviews and promotions I did for three months straight really wore me out."

"Oh yeah, how was Canada? Did you see any hot chicks?" Puck asked.

"Puckerman, I think it's about time you found yourself a girlfriend." Quinn leaned back in her seat so she couldn't look down Rachel's dress since that would be crass.

"I do have one," he said casually. "She owns one of the clubs I play at. She's got firey-red hair, delicious curves, tattoos of all these quotes that I don't understand on her body. She's got the prettiest smile, her teeth are a bit crocked but nothing a dentist can't fix. She doesn't think too much of me. Thinks she can do better. But I see her checking out the Puckerman package whenever I'm on stage."

"Puckerman package being..." Rachel trailed off.

Puck glanced down at his crouch. "This." The table erupted into groans and laughter and Puck added, "I think I'm in love with her."

Quinn made a move to smack him across the head but Rachel glared at her so she crossed her arms instead. "I'm serious," Puck looked noble and wounded, she almost felt sorry for him. "Why doesn't anyone believe me when I say that?"

"Kurt's got a really good theory about love," Brittany said. "Tell them, Kurt."

Kurt smiled without warmth. "My studies have shown that—"

"You studied this in fashion?" Quinn interrupted.

"I took a Psych class, okay?"

"Why?"

"Extra grades."

"Why would you do that? What does fashion have anything to do with—"

"Quinn, will you just let him talk?" Rachel rested her arms on the table. Quinn's eyes automatically dipped down to the curve of her sternum. She glanced away in time to see the smirk on Rachel's face. She had done that intentionally. Quinn wondered if it would be normal for her to have a heart attack. Only four percent of heart attacks in women happen before forty. It would certainly be possible if Rachel continued to gaze at her like that.

Kurt wasn't too pleased with the interruption but continued anyway. "Like I said, my studies have shown—"

"Wait, wait," Quinn said again. She ignored her friends' grumblings. "_Your_ studies? You mean to say you came up with this yourself?"

"Yes, Quinn," he snapped. "We had to write a paper on it. Now shut it. From my studies I've found that the process of falling into mature love happens in four steps." He held up one finger. "When you meet someone, you subconsciously look for cues that they're the kind of person you want to be with. That's assumption." He held up a second finger. "If they pass the assumption test, you begin to get to know them to figure out if they're appropriate for you." He held up a third finger. "If, as you're getting to know this person, the attraction is reinforced with joy or pain or both, you'll fall into infatuation. And..." He held up a fourth finger. "If you manage to make a connection and attach to each other during infatuation, you'll move into mature unconditional love."

"That seems a bit cynical." Santana said, faking interest.

"That doesn't mean its wrong," he said, speaking directly to her. "Take assumption. Your subconscious mind scans women and picks out those that meet your assumption about the kind of woman you're attracted to."

"I'd like to think I'm not too close-minded." Santana said. "Besides, I have no need to check out other women."

Quinn laughed at the confused expression on Brittany's face, saying, _you always check out other women_, and Santana ducked her head.

"Which is why I'm surprised Puckerman here is in love with this bar owner chick," Kurt sipped his drink. "One of my assumptions is that his women are always beautiful—"

"Like me, if you're searching your brains for an example." Santana added confidently.

"Hey, I'm not shallow. I dated Zizes in high school." Puck said defensively. Quinn noticed that Rachel has stuffed a napkin into her mouth. "I really am in love."

"Yeah, yeah." They all say simultaneously.

They talked all night, switching from coffee to wine to Jack Daniels and it's as though they've been drunk for hours. Rachel didn't drink though, since she took her tablets earlier and Quinn made sure to stay tipsy and _not_ drunk. They talked about everything, catching up on each other's lives and how much it's unravelled and changed for better or worse.

Quinn tried to keep up with their conversations, it was her mind which kept drifting back into the last few months. She had been miserable, it was almost unbearable to be alive then. She had never felt that sad in her life; a sadness that went down to her toes. Most of the time, she was in a terrifying trance but half-aware, not able to leave it, knowing there's something to be solved, a question she wanted answered. Fast forward a couple more months and she isn't sure how she had managed to have lived this long without Rachel. In an instant her sadness becomes a joy that's impossible to describe.

She's happy—extremely happy. No, more than happy. She feels all the heaviness float away from her body, up into the clouds. For one thing, she didn't have to go through the motions of a mourning widow, and now Rachel is beside her. The shimmering light spreads out from where she's sitting like God had sent Rachel back to her. They have a new closeness, intense beyond imagining, it would go on forever and leave nothing but the traces of warmth. She knew that something bright and important at happened, a foreign experience invaded her body. But she didn't want to pause and think about it, or to think about what could have possibly changed within the eleven months; she was trying to get through things a minute at a time.

After dessert, Quinn helped Santana take the plates into the kitchen. They stood loading the dishwasher, well, Quinn was loading the dishwasher and Santana swayed uneasily from side to side, staring at Brittany's behind. She said,

"Who knew married life would be so blissful." Quinn wasn't entirely listening and Santana continued to talk to herself, "God, look at Brittany's ass, can anyone have a better ass than that? She's full of organic goodness."

Quinn straightened. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know. I'm drunk. Who knows what I'm saying," she turned to Quinn and said, "Do you not know how to load a dishwasher, Q? You can't just put the saucepans in the dishwasher, you have to rinse them first. Useless."

"Do you want to do it?" She snapped.

"No. I'm going to slap my wife on the ass." She left Quinn alone to rinse the pans.

Quinn was not easily intimidated by anyone, but there was something self-sufficient and self-satisfied about Santana and Brittany's relationship that made her defensive. It's certainly not a matter of love; she and Rachel loved each other just as much. What made her anxious was the obligation to prove herself a winner. Santana would never have left Brittany if she were to lose five years of her life, she would've gone through all the pain and heartache no matter how difficult. Santana was not usually a woman of feelings, but she could be hale and hearty and caring if the situation demanded it, especially when it came to Brittany, and Quinn resolved to not let that get to her.

As she entered the living room the axis powers turn to face her, and there was a hasty hush as if they had been discussing about her. She smiled confidently then flopped onto the couch. Rachel had rearranged the living room to look like a country house hotel, right down to the copies of _Country Life_, _Private House_ and the _Economist_, fanned out on the coffee table. Another momentary silence. The clock on the wall ticked, and she reached for the copy of _Vogue_ and heard,

"Let's play truth or dare." Puck said, there was general disapproval from everyone.

"We're not in high school anymore, Puck." Kurt said.

"Fine, spin the bottle." He said, more animated than he had been all evening.

Brittany, meanwhile, rolled up the magazine she had been reading and smacked it across his head. "You have a girlfriend, Puck, that you _love_. You can't go kissing other girls."

"Sure, why not? What she won't know won't hurt her."

"What happens if you kiss me?" Kurt asked. "There are only six of us here, not many options."

"Oh yeah," Puck scratched his head and turned to ask Rachel, who was crouched by the DVDs. "Hey Rach, what do you want to do?"

Rachel didn't say anything at first. Puck asked again. A moment of awed silence followed and Quinn thought that Rachel might have been too mesmerized with their DVD collection to have paid any attention to him. And then there was a crash, an appalled cry from Kurt and Brittany followed.

"Rachel!"

"Rachel, are you okay?"

Quinn looked up from her magazine to see Rachel slumped on the floor like a marionette with all her strings cut. Horrified, Quinn immediately crossed over towards her. She shook Rachel's shoulders lightly a few times, and then her eyes were slowly blinking wide. They helped her to sit up and a dark rivulet of blood trickled down beneath her nose. She moaned quietly to herself. Brittany returned a minute later with a wet towel.

"What the hell happened?" Don't be mistaken, Santana was genuinely concerned.

"I don't know," Rachel said, taking the towel away from her nose. She had a fistful of soaked blood in her hands. "I was sitting and then—"

"And then you just rolled over."

Quinn hauled her to stand and Rachel leaned into her. "I'm okay now."

"Rachel, your nose is bleeding and you had a mini-blackout. You're not okay." Quinn said. She felt guilty in a way—an unusual emotion in this situation. She didn't _cause _the blackout—because she didn't know what to do to end Rachel's pain. She wasn't altogether sure she understood what had happened.

"I've been getting a bit of a headache. The doctor prescribed me this medication and it's worked wonders."

"It couldn't have worked that wondrously since you fainted." Santana remarked.

"I'm just tired," Rachel leaned further into Quinn and held her hand tightly, trying to regain the balance on both her feet. "It's been a long month."

"We'll get going then," Brittany said. "We'll let you rest."

"No, you don't to leave because of me," Rachel continued to speak into the towel. "Stay."

"And do what?" Kurt asked. "I don't mean that in a nasty way. You need to rest, Rach."

"It's not like Quinn's any fun." Santana added.

A primal scene, Quinn and Santana glared and glared. Instinctively her arm wrapped tighter around Rachel's waist, and she said the only thing that she could think of, "Thanks for coming over."

Quinn didn't leave Rachel's side after their friends left. She stood beside her when Rachel brushed her teeth and did her nightly face-wash regime, she sat by the bed staring at Rachel while she got dressed into her pajamas, she even waited outside the bathroom when Rachel needed to use the toilet. Rachel was paler than Quinn had ever seen her. She had been drained from the headache, or the loss of blood, either way, there was no color left on her face.

"You did a really good job washing these bed sheets." Rachel said. Quinn laughed, a release of air and tension.

The bed was soft and smelt of freshly washed linen. They lay beneath a single white cotton sheet, and Quinn could see the wonderful line of Rachel's legs and narrow hips. Tonight's sexual potential evaporated with the moment of impact and the possibility of a head trauma, but still she turned to face Rachel and placed one hand on her thigh.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Quinn mumbled.

"I'm okay."

"Why am I not convinced?"

Rachel stroked her face. Quinn's head began swirling, perhaps she was also getting some sort of head trauma, too. Her body was floating away, as if the day existed in a spirit-world.

"I'm okay, Quinn."

"You say that a lot. You're usually very verbose. 'I'm okay' is so simple."

There's a silence while she waited for Rachel's response, eyebrows raised expectantly. All Rachel said was, "Thank you for staying over."

Without thinking too much into it, she turned to lie on her back, Rachel's head on her shoulder. "Couldn't leave you to die, could I?"

"Is that the _only_ reason why you're here?"

"Of course."

"I don't like you very much." She murmured into Quinn's neck. "After the six orgasms I gave you—"

"It was only five, actually."

"_Only_ _five_? You say it as though you have five orgasms every day."

Quinn smirked. "Maybe I do."

Rachel turned away from her embrace completely, mumbling something that sounded like "I'm hurt" into her pillow. Quinn stared at the back of her head, where the long fine hair fell away from the nape of her neck, revealing the darker whorls beneath. She wondered whether she should tell Rachel she loves her, or more tentatively, that she's in love with Rachel of the present, just as Rachel is in love with Quinn of the present.

Inspired, she kissed Rachel's shoulder, and whispered, "Well, you know what they say—" She paused for effect. "You always hurt the one you love!"

That was pretty clever, pretty adorable Quinn thought, and Rachel replied, "That's a ridiculous saying, Quinn," she turned and they were facing each other once again. "Why would you hurt the one you love? That's not love."

"I don't hurt you _intentionally_. That's what it means. I don't set out to hurt you daily—"

"You set out to _provoke_ me daily—"

"Out of love, Rachel."

"It's a ridiculous form of love."

"Well, stop being so cute and I won't do it so often."

Rachel didn't say anything. She started to giggle, then laughed outright, struggling to maintain the silence as her body shook, making the mattress shudder. Quinn just watched Rachel screwing her face tight to keep it in, but the laughter came in waves now and another surge of hysterics was beginning to build. That headache must have been quite dangerous. Quinn didn't even know what she said that had been so funny. She was not usually very funny. At least not _this_ funny.

Finally, Rachel calmed a little and she wiped away the happy tears. "Don't look so shocked, Quinn. You have your moments where you're actually quite funny."

"What did I say?"

"The way you said it was funny."

"How did I say it?"

"You ask too many questions." Rachel snuggled closer to her and just when she was about to close her eyes, Rachel said, "Tell me another story about us."

Quinn let out a long tiring sigh, then began to recall the story when they were Sophomore in College. They hadn't seen each other in two months, and Rachel had had enough of the lack of physical contact, what she meant was sex, so out of the blue she took a train to New Haven. She fell asleep on the train and it took her back to New York, then she had to catch _another_ train to New Haven. Quinn waited for her at the station until six p.m. That's a lot considering Rachel was supposed to arrive at twelve midday. They hadn't spent the day doing much except sleep in each other's arms, and just as quickly, Rachel had to go back to New York. She didn't dare fall asleep on the train again.

Another time, they were ice skating at Rockefeller Center. That had been the intention. Rachel met some young fans who had seen her in a production of _Dorothy of Oz_ and loved her as Dorothy. Rachel spent the night ignoring Quinn and talking to four twelve year-old aspiring actresses. She gave them advice, encouraged them to follow their dreams. Quinn headed back to the apartment out of boredom, had dinner, watched two episodes of _Dexter_, returned to the ice-rink three hours later and Rachel hadn't notice she left in the first place.

Gradually, Rachel's breathing became heavy. Quinn began to drift off when Rachel's breath was hot in her ear. "Good night, Quinn." She murmured while she could still speak.

"Good night, Rach."

Their 'good's have become their 'I love you's. _Good_ morning, _good _luck, _good _day, _good _bye, _good _night.

They didn't say it much to each other—in exactly a month. The spontaneous meeting in India jolted new emotions and they learnt to let go, relax and learn all there is to know about these new versions of themselves. It's sort of like living in a dream world, where time expands like a mushroom cloud. Normally they fought at least once a week, besides the occasional banter, she always seemed to annoy Rachel to an extent that led to Rachel ignoring her completely for a few hours. That hadn't happened in a month; Quinn was beginning to think _this_ Rachel was incapable of being angry at her.

This, she felt, is real life, they weren't kids anymore. They had fallen in love within two weeks in high school, which seems unrealistic now that they've grown and experienced life. It would be inappropriate, undignified, at this age, to fall in love with the ardour and intensity of a seventeen year-old. Falling in love like that was ridiculous, expecting a song or a book or movie to change your life. Everything had evened out and settled down and life was lived against a general background hum of comfort and satisfaction. There were still those nerve-jangling highs and lows, however, they had become less dramatic, didn't expect too much, they were happy in that they had each other but knew that life was not a miracle and that things will never always run smooth for a long period.

There is a point in the future where even the worst disaster starts to settle into an anecdote, and Quinn can see the potential for a story here. It's the kind of story that she would like to tell their kids.

**•••**

**December 2nd, 2016**

The headline read:

_Is this the most odious woman in Hollywood?_

—and for a while Quinn thought there must be a mistake because beneath the headline they have accidentally printed her picture, and beneath that the single word 'disgraceful' as if Disgraceful were her surname. Quinn Disgraceful. With the tiny espresso cup pinched tight between her finger and thumb she read on.

_Let's face it, celebrity marriages can melt faster than a stick of butter on a frying pan. Last year there were 13 tinsel town marriages that have ended before the butter could melt. But have there ever been a marriage much like Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry's? The childhood sweethearts married on May 24th, 2015, and 6 months later found them both in a tragic accident that changed the course of their lives. The accident led to Rachel Berry losing five years of her life_—_five years, in which she spent with Quinn— she had no recollection of their life together._ _We have two sources that confirm it is in fact _true_ Quinn and Rachel are now divorced, and prepare for further shock, it was Quinn Fabray herself who filed for divorce._

Quinn knew she should stop reading here, just close the paper and move on, but her vision had already glimpsed a word or two. 'Atrocious' was one. She read on—

_Divorcing your ill and traumatised wife is like breaking up with your partner on Valentine's Day, or a birthday. So what was Quinn thinking? Certainly not helping Rachel get through the most difficult time in her life. Sources confirm that she began filming a new project in L.A weeks after the papers were filed and on June 21st after a meeting with her lawyer, the divorce was finally settled. Quinn has been seen happily with her co-star Mark Morley on his arm. Could this be the new __**it **__couple? They certainly do have a lot of chemistry and share steamy scenes in their upcoming movie. Has she moved on so quickly? _

_It is no wonder that reports are saying, "What Quinn did is completely atrocious. Vows are sacred and yet she divorced her ill wife! If she was going to leave she shouldn't have gotten married."_

_Other sources have said that Quinn and Rachel married in order to boost their careers. Two girls from Lima, Ohio who went to high school together, despised each other, fell in love, married happily? Sounds like something out of a Nicholas Sparks novel. _

_It's also become the talk of the town that the cast of _The Mistress of Rome_ are currently cursed. Candy Shelton was arrested for a D.U.I two months ago and spent two days in jail. And is there a more smug, self-satisfied smart-ass than Mark Morley? A subliminal burst of his cocky, pretty-boy face makes us want to kick the screen in. Honestly, what were the directors thinking casting him for the part of brute, lovable Arius? It certainly can't be the good looks. There are plenty of male celebrities much better fitted for this role.__  
><em>  
><em>With the way the casts' reputations are being portrayed over the world, a lot of money will need to be put in to heavily promote this movie if they wish for it to be a success. Let's hope they can turn their luck around.<em>

Certain feelings can be momentarily painless when there is no warning. She felt an enormous thud in her heart, something shattered within her. She was confused for a few seconds, and then the signals cut in. She placed the newspaper on the table. With a great deal of clutter she made herself another cup of coffee, accidentally dropping a mug and it fell into tiny pieces at her feet. She reached down to pick it up and cut her fingers. She pulled the piece out; the pain didn't register with her. It was the explosion of anger; she could feel its hot flow through her hair and down her neck. The anger, in its own strange way, stopped her from lashing out at something, _someone_. She was in that sweet realm where violence has a resolution in drama.

She leaned forward on the sink with her hand underneath the running tap water. The blood flowed through her hand and she watched the mixture of blood and water swirl down the drain. She didn't feel like fainting, but she did want to lose consciousness and wondered whether it would be possible to go to sleep and wake up when all the drama was over.

Tall poppy syndrome, that's what it is. Quinn said to herself. A bit of success and they want to knock you down well I don't care I like my job and I'm damn good at it and it's much much harder than people think and how the hell did the divorce get out we were so careful well it's no one's business people can say what they want to say at least they're talking about me right God I sound like Rachel for a minute there I'm not going to take this personally I've never cared for the media why start now these journalists need a good story everyone is always looking for a good story well they can have their story and when they find out there's nothing of importance this whole thing will blow over no one ever built statues for journalists.

Variations of this monologue ran through Quinn's head throughout her day; on her trip to meet her manager, during her chauffeured drive to the production office of the television interview she's soon to appear on, the production meeting of said television interview, the hair and make-up sessions, the pre-recording of the interview, the errands she was running, right up until she was sitting in a low leather chair in a glass cube office waiting for the production manager of DreamWorks, she began to feel shaky from too much coffee, sick with anxiety, her febrile state not helped by the fact that Rachel has yet to return any of her phone calls.

The door swung open, the production manager, Marsha walking in with two men Quinn's never met before. She was tall and imposing, with aqua-line features that give her an intimidating Woolfish quality. In her early forties, her grey hair cropped and brushed forward Soviet-style, her voice husky and commanding, she offered her hand to Quinn.

"I'm glad you're here."

Quinn squeaked a reply. She had the overwhelming feeling that she shouldn't be here, is wasting this redoubtable woman's time; she owns a well-established production company, earning millions every week, Quinn didn't know what to feel in her presence. Certainly, Marsha did not look too happy. A silence hung in the air as she lowered the venetian blinds then adjusted them so that the exterior of the office is obscured. They all sat in the half-light, and Quinn had the suddenly feeling that she was about to be interrogated.

"Well, sorry to have kept you waiting, it's unbelievably busy, I'm afraid. I know I didn't give you any notice of this meeting. I don't want to rush this. With something like this it's so important to make the right decision, don't you think?"

"It's vital, absolutely."

"I suppose you have seen the news?"

Quinn squeaked a yes, and glanced at the men sitting by the sofa. They too seemed to be at a loss for words. Marsha continued, "This is none of my business, but I must know, are you and Rachel divorced?"

"Yes," she answered slowly. Quinn felt as if she was being a little stiff, she relaxed slightly. "It was finalized two months ago."

"We're not judging you for anything, Quinn, you must understand that," Marsha leaned forward, impassioned. "What you and Rachel do in regards to your marriage is not of my interest. What I'm interested in is finding a way to rectify this issue and get the critics and journalists talking _positively_ about the movie's release."

Quinn continued to sit in silence. She did not like where this was heading. Marsha said, "Are you familiar with the term public relations?"

"I've heard of it."

"Are you aware that you have a reputation?"

"I have a _reputation_?"

"In the industry."

"As what?"

"Just that you're a bit unprofessional."

"In what way?"

"In a drunk way."

Quinn's eyes were hot and embarrassed. "Is this—because of what happened in Bombay?"

Marsha, seemingly unflustered, examined her with her sharp blue eyes. "I saw it. You seemed flustered—"

"I wasn't told that I was co-hosting."

"And very drunk."

"That—that was unprofessional, I know. I don't have an excuse for it." She knew karma always had a way of coming back to haunt her.

"Quinn, I'm not going to fire you if that's what you're worried about." Marsha looked a little irritated when Quinn didn't respond. "What I want to do is change people's perception of you. Not only you, of course, Mark and Candy as well."

"Are you suggesting a threesome? I'm not opened to polygamy." She meant it as a joke but regretted it immediately when Marsha was the only person in the room who didn't find it funny.

"No, that's not what I'm suggesting," she said no more, but emanated deep disapproval. Her eyes turned to the papers on the desk. "Everyone has taken a liking to your relationship with Mark—"

"There's no relationship there. I'm sure the whole world knows I'm a lesbian. Having married a woman and all."

"You look very happy in the photo," Marsha slid a magazine cut out across the table. Mark had taken her home after a long day on set and she kissed him goodbye. He said something stupid and she laughed. "There have been news that the two of you have entered into a romantic—"

"Rachel and I are still together," Quinn said immediately, knowing where this was going. "Despite the divorce, we're still together."

"You know what I'm about to ask you?"

"I'm not going to pretend to be in love with someone else. I'm not going to do that to Rachel.

"This is your career."

"No, my career is to make great movies and not to lie about my personal life. If people aren't going to see this movie because of the rumors, then that's not my problem."

"But it is mine, and I'm sure you understand why I'm asking this of you. If this movie is not a success, I'm not the only one who has failed. Your career is also depending on this movie." Disappointment flashed across Marsha's face. "Listen Quinn, this is all part of promoting a movie. This is your first big project and I don't expect you to understand, but when a movie is receiving negative feedback we take measures to improve the situation."

"And what am I supposed to do? Make sure the paparazzi take photos of us together? Hang on his arm like some lost puppy dog?"

Her comment must have struck Marsha as funny, because despite the lingering tension and unease, her mouth curved in a reluctant smile. "There doesn't need to be huge amounts of affection. Just enough to keep the paparazzi interested and guessing."

"Haven't we done enough promotions for this movie?" More often she's wondered when all this was going to end.

"This is to ensure the movie's big opening week."

"How do you know this is going to guarantee a new perspective of me, or the cast? And why does it have to be me? Candy and Mark have just as much chemistry."

"Everyone has been talking about _you_ and Mark, Quinn. Have you not been reading the magazines?"

"I don't read them." She said honestly. After reading a rumor in regards to her womaniser ways and calling her a homewreaker a few months back, she stopped completely. She just so happened to see her name in the newspaper this morning while turning to page ten to read a review in regards Rachel's play.

Marsha looked down at her hands, nail tips drumming the table surface. She stopped it as soon as she realized what she was doing. "A very wise decision. Unfortunately, I do and one of my key skills is taking the initiative to ensure every project this company takes on becomes a success." She noticed the scowl on Quinn's face and added, "I'm not saying that you're a failure. Your divorce has garnered a lot of attention in the span of seven hours. They're calling you 'odious' and 'atrocious'—"

"Jumping into a new relationship isn't going to change that," Quinn said sternly. "It's going to be _worse_. I'm basically a lesbian, once you go lesbian you don't go back. The LGBT community isn't going to warm to this idea."

Marsha sighed, she was startled by Quinn's sudden admission. "Once the movie is released within the next month or so you and Rachel are able to live your lives. This is done to garner enough attention and bring people to the cinemas."

Quinn made a rude noise. That's what she was to them: the hot-shot money tree. She cleared her throat before speaking, "Am I allowed to talk about this with my partner or is the decision already decided for me?"

"You may talk it over with Rachel, but the end result will always be the same. There really isn't a 'no' to this question."

There was nothing left to be said and Quinn was dismissed. _Dismissed_. As though she was still seventeen and in high school. Marsha was good at her job, at the way to do things without _feeling_, at how to get the most money for the least effort, at how to be in charge of everyone around her so danger never happened, doing things just for the money at the expense of ruining a person's reputation. Or was she really trying to help Quinn's? She couldn't tell anymore. It wasn't long before Quinn did a mental somersault where she reasoned with herself that she was doing this for her career and that it wouldn't affect her relationship with Rachel. She had a hard time believing it.

Quinn walked towards the elevator, hot-eyed and embarrassed. Mark had been waiting outside Marsha's office and instantly followed Quinn when he saw her. Heads popped up from cubicles as they passed in possession. That'll teach her, they must think, for getting a _reputation_.

"Hey, how'd it go?" He asked, ingratingly. "Is she has scary as people say she is?"

"Did you know about these rumors?" She asked.

Mark looked unsure for a moment. "Yeah, it's been everywhere. I didn't think too much of it considering you're gay and all that. What'd she say?"

"That you and I have some faking to do."

"What does that mean?"

"Fake a relationship."

"But you're gay."

"Tell that to the rich grumpy lady who won't take no for an answer." Arriving at the elevator, she jabbed the button.

"It won't be that hard. We've done a lot more on screen," he laughed but she didn't. "Is it really horrible to be in a relationship with me?"

"No one's going to believe this crap. I'm already the most odious woman in Hollywood for divorcing her traumatised wife, imagine what they'll say when I'm suddenly straight after four years with Rachel. It's unrealistic."

"At least, if anything you'll have an amusing story."

_An Amusing story_? Quinn jabbed at the button again, she wants change, a break, not anecdotes. Her life had been stuffed with anecdotes, and endless string of bad luck in the past eleven months. If it wasn't bad luck with her career, it was bad luck with her personal life. Now she wanted something to go right for once, in both her personal _and_ professional life, simultaneously. She wants success without having to give up anything to achieve it. Especially Rachel. She jabbed the button once more and said nothing, a surly teenager, making them suffer. She waited.

Mark glanced down at his zipper and Quinn frowned at him when his eyes met hers. "Just checking," he said sheepishly. "Nothing worse than unzipped pants when meeting the woman who's basically in control of your life."

The elevator opened behind her and she glanced over her shoulder, almost wishing she had a remark. She decided to keep it to herself and stepped in, waving to him before the doors closed. She slumped against the wall as the elevator plummeted thirty floors and she felt the excitement in her stomach curdle into sour disappointment. Earlier that afternoon when she had gotten a personal call from Marsha wanting to arrange a meeting, she had fantasized an impromptu lunch with the production manager. She had pictured herself drinking crisp white wine, beguiling her companion with engaging stories of her life and future aspirations, and now here she was, spat out into the street in less than twenty-five minutes with an order to do as she was told.

In February of this year she had celebrated being cast as one of the lead actresses in the movie right here, but there's none of that euphoria at the moment. To clear her head she decided to go for a walk, and headed off in the direction of Rockafellar Center. Even the light snow flakes failed to lift her spirits. A car moved along the street and for a moment the flakes horizontal with the line traced by its passing roof tumble and jiggle in the turbulence of its slipstream. She was hungry, but there was nowhere to eat, no one to eat with. Her phone began to ring and she scrambled for it in her bag, keen to vent some of her frustration and realizing with excitement who was the calling.

"I'm so sorry, Quinn," Rachel said. "I've had a terribly busy morning."

Quinn sighed. "It's okay."

Rachel hesitated. "Are you—I mean, is everything—How are you?"

"So you read it too?"

"Hard to miss your name in huge letters as I was turning to page ten to read the review for the play. Where are you?"

"Rockafellar Center. At the ice-rink."

"Why are you there?"

"It's peaceful here."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"No, I'm being serious."

"Watching children and teenagers scream is not exactly peaceful. Are you sure you're okay?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, changing the subject. "Tell me about your busy day."

"Oh well, I had rehearsals in the morning. Ian is suffering from gastric flu so we rehearsed with his understudy—" It's that voice Rachel reserved for her, modest, sing-song and affectionate and she felt a fresh burst of contentment. "My confirmations that Andrea is a harlot are entirely true. She has slept with no less than ten different men since I've met her, which was in June. That would mean two-point-five men a month—"

"There's no such thing as two-point-five men, Rach. It would mean that in two of those months she slept with three."

"Oh right, well anyway, enough about her. I had lunch with my dads today. They miss you. We should have dinner together some time. Your mom, too. You haven't spoken to her, have you?"

"I spoke to her yesterday. She's coming up next—"

"That's great, Quinn, I told my dads to come up next—"

"You _knew_ my mom was coming up next week, Rachel. You were sitting next to me when I spoke to her—"

"It's all been arranged."

"Must you always control my social life?"

"It's for our own good, Quinn. I wasn't available to plan your social life last month and instead you spent the whole month in your apartment. Without me you _wouldn't have_ a social life. So, continuing with my day—"

Quinn took the phone away from her ear while Rachel droned on. She needed a new upgrade, it was the phone Rachel had bought for her two years ago. They even had phone sex on the thing. Many times. She could hear Rachel's mumbled voice through it and contemplated how pleasant it would feel to hurl the phone at the teenager making funny faces at her from the ice-rink. She would enjoy the phone hit him like a brick to a wall. But she would have to remove her micro-sim first, which would deaden the symbolism somewhat, and such dramatic gestures are for movies and television. How did people on television just decide to throw their phones away without concern for their personal details?

She continued to glare deadly at the boy, who was now smirking at her. I'm going to do it. I'm going to throw this phone at his head and watch as he falls over and everyone laughs—

"You weren't even listening to me."

Quinn jumped in fright at the shock of Rachel's voice beside her ear. Rachel smiled with radiance in her eyes. Quinn just stared. It was all she could do not to gasp in shock. Rachel was here in front of her in the flesh. Rachel's sculpted mouth that made her knees weak with something entirely different than nervousness. And that dark hair—her fingers itched to weave themselves through its softness. That lithe, flat-muscled body, and those legs... and that _voice_.

"So... we're only going to stare at each other today?"

She felt her insides churn a bit as Rachel's voice brought her back to the present. She realized she hadn't said anything. "What—what are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I came to see you."

"I thought we weren't going to meet today?

Rachel paused for a moment, letting people push pass them before saying, "You've had a bad day. I thought my presence would cheer you up."

Quinn chuckled lightly, and pecked her on the lips. She didn't linger for too long, knowing the longer she lingered, she'd most likely take Rachel right there in the center of the ice. Not that it was realistically possible, but it had always been one of the fantasies she placed in the pile of other unrealistic fantasies.

"Now, tell me what's wrong?" Rachel sounded worried.

Quinn told her about the meeting, about her _reputation_, what's to be expected and how they wish to rectify the problem. She emphasized _they_ because she needed Rachel to know that this was in no way her choice. She didn't leave any details out. Beads of perspiration dotted her upper lip as she spoke, and her fingers tightened into fists in her pockets. Quinn thought about her anxiety throughout the day, the shock at seeing the article, her short temper when talking with Marsha, she had wanted to run away from it all. The tension was gone now, every bit of it, replaced with love, and she was glad about that as she watched Rachel listening silently.

Quinn glanced at her a few times and watched the way her eyes would spark at a remark Quinn had said to Marsha, as if shocked Quinn had the nerve to talk to a superior like that. She felt strangely aroused when a smile would cross over Rachel's face.

When Quinn finished talking, they stood in tense, uneasy silence as the minutes crawled by. When she was certain it was safe, she wrapped an arm around Rachel's shoulder. Rachel automatically leaned into her. "You have no choice." Rachel said.

Defeated, Quinn sighed. "No."

"I told you being drunk on that show was going to cause some form of disaster on your career. Did I not predict this?"

Quinn made a noise in her throat somewhere between laughter and a growl. "It doesn't make you a psychic."

Rachel was grinning expectantly. "It was still a prediction which happens to be correct. When have you ever known me to be wrong with these predictions?" Quinn opened her mouth and before the words could tumble out Rachel said, "Don't answer that. You're going to say something sarcastic."

"You're okay with this happening?"

The muscles of Rachel's arms, still pressed against hers, went taut, and a sudden wariness hardened on her face. "It's only for a couple of months, right?"

"Yeah, it is."

"I don't understand how this is likely to help your reputation? Wouldn't it anger your fans? Our _Faberry_ fans?"

In the same quiet voice, Quinn added, "I'm only going to do this unless you're okay with it."

"You have no choice."

"They really can't do much. How can they possibly fire me? The movie already has a release date."

"I believe that if you disagree to do this and the movie is a failure, DreamWorks has every right to not cast you for any further projects. That includes Paramount Pictures and anything in association with them. Also, they have a thirty picture distribution deal with Walt Disney Studios. So technically—"

"Every major studio in America."

"You're pretty much screwed, Fabray. Not in the orgasm-induced way either."

"Oh geez, thanks for the pep talk. Really lifted my spirits there, Rach."

Rachel moved closer, her arm sliding around Quinn's waist and Quinn's breath caught. She blinked rapidly several times before realizing Rachel's face was not even an inch from hers. Rachel hesitated for what seemed like forever and a second and instinctively Quinn leaned forward. As she did so, Rachel brought her mouth up on hers: a soft press of warm lips, more of a question than a kiss. Quinn answered her question by sliding her hand inside Rachel's coat, around her waist and bringing the smaller girl full against her own body.

It was the answer Rachel wanted, the kiss turned more demanding. She slid her hands upward along Quinn's chest and twined them around her neck. Quinn's senses filled, soaking in the waxy-sweet smell of fresh cut flowers around her, the echo and laughter and voices around them. And above all, her awareness of Rachel: the taste of coffee on her lips, the strength of her arms and chest and legs beneath her clothes, her warmth, the firm feel of her lips, that scent so uniquely Rachel... what her hands were doing to Quinn's hair, weaving them ever so slowly across her curls.

Rachel let out a breath, murmuring what sounded like "shit" and pulled away to rub on her forehead. Her face scrunched in discomfort. Flushed and flustered, Quinn gathered her own rapid breathing before placing a hand on Rachel's back,

"Your head is still hurting?"

"Yeah." She trailed off, scrambling through her bag for the tablets and a bottle of water.

"Did you go back to the doctor?"

"I've made an appointment for tomorrow."

"Let's go home." Quinn grabbed her hand and they headed out in the oppressive cold, finding their way through the people and up the stairs that led out to the city.

"My home or your home?"

"Are we going to have sex?"

"Uh—no—"

"Then you can go to your home and I'll go back to my home."

"You're really not funny, Quinn."

"I think I'm very funny."

**•••**

**April 19th, 2012**

"Why is love such a common dramatic device?"

A minute into the glee and Quinn was bored already. Not bored exactly—more like distracted. She could still taste the flavor of Rachel's chapstick on her lips. Fresh from telling Rachel she had gotten into Yale, Rachel attacked her in the bathroom in such a painful way it was _arousing_. Rachel had grabbed her and pushed her hard against the bathroom wall. She gasped and kissed Rachel's opened lips, then kissed her again harder as she started to respond. Quinn's arms slipped around her neck, and Rachel's body pressed against hers from their knees to their mouths. Quinn breathed in the scent of her.

"I knew you were going to get in, baby." Rachel had said, and then she put far too much distance between them and started pacing the bathroom talking entirely to herself about the distance, financial costs, and planning dates in advance in her clever little head.

It was a moment that was hard to think of, yet one she would remember for the rest of her life. It was a moment that pierced her heart with sudden jolt that she's left bewildered and exhausted in her happiness. In Rachel's smile and Rachel's words, she saw the other girl's warmth and shyness and loyalty, the whole courteous depth of her goodwill and calm grace. Watching Rachel pace around reminded her of a little teddy bear, her unruly hair falling in the way of her eyes. From a distance you would expect her eyes to be black, but somehow in the light of that room—at just the right angle—Quinn noticed them to be crystal blue, only for a second, and in that second looking into her eyes she felt herself soaring into the currents of air. There was a dimple in her cheek when she smiled wide enough. All this description is only love. Well, that is the way Rachel was, the way Quinn saw her.

Mr. Schue walked slowly across the room, his boots clicking against the floor. By this point everyone had learnt to ignore him and no one dared to offer answers or questions. Quinn glanced over at Rachel who was happily scribbling in her notebook. What else was new?

The weeks flew by sort of in a blur. Being the third gayest couple to come out in McKinley (does Brittany and Santana count?) did not guarantee being attacked less with slushies and ridicules. You would think the principal would do something. What Quinn remembered most was the feeling of growing lighter and freer, and how it seemed that the opaque weight of the world was dissolving. It had been as if suddenly, after serenading Rachel in front of the whole school, a switch was flicked and the walls of school dissolved and everything unimportant that happened around her was being teleported into an unreachable dimension to never be thought of again. She didn't mind the slushies, the name calling, the glares, it actually had no effect on her. Something which had scared Rachel into a huge panic attack because she thought Quinn's defenses were up and she was shutting out her feelings when in all honesty, she couldn't care less.

"Love is a common dramatic device because love is persuasive. Temporary as it so often is, love nonetheless compels otherwise rational creatures to behave in the most extraordinary ways." Mr Schue's dark gaze was out the window for a moment, but then his attention was on the class again.

Santana, who was sitting a step down from her, turned around and made a funny expression as if to say, _What the fuck is he talking about_? Quinn laughed, not because of what Santana was trying to convey to her, but of the expression itself.

"Quinn," Rachel said sternly. "Pay attention."

Quinn ignored her and leaned down to whisper in Santana's ear, "Do you think he knows we're in glee?"

"Sounds like he's rehearsing for a lame Shakespeare play." Santana said in the same whisper.

"I'll have you know—" Rachel leaned over, her top half falling into Quinn's lap. "This is important for Nationals. I wish you both would take it more seriously."

"Are you even listening to what he's saying?" Santana whispered. "It's not even about glee."

"Perhaps this is the introduction—"

"Introduction for ten minutes? How dense are you—"

"Hey!" Quinn raised her voice and automatically smacked Santana lightly across the head. "Sorry," she said just as immediately. "Reflex."

"I'll reflex my elbow in your head next time." It was meant to be a threat but Quinn couldn't sense it in her tone. "You're so whipped." She smirked and resumed facing Mr Schue.

Rachel flashed Quinn the sweetest smile and everything slowed down a little. In the space and the stillness Quinn took stock of her desires. In the presence of Rachel's love for her, she sensed the joy and comfort and understood that deep and basic human desire for companionship at depth. She was going to be eighteen soon, and in complete honesty, she had only been in love _once_. That once was enough for her to know that she wanted something _more_. She wanted _forever_.

It seemed they had been in love for more than a couple of months. She fell into Rachel's dynamism of her warmth. Over the months they became inseparable, shared everything, all trials and tribulations, all dreams and fears. Rachel Berry has _somehow_ become the love of her life. Love. Of. Her. Life. A retrospectively absurd concept since she was still in her teens and still has the next fifty years of her life.

However, the idea that she has any choice in the matter is the great illusion.

It was this illusion which inspired her to tell Rachel her plans for _their _future, and she had worked up the courage all through glee. But then she had other obstacles to deal with, like Santana for example, cornering her and speaking in what Quinn identified as anything other than English because she couldn't understand a thing, or probably because Rachel said a sweet, I'll wait for you outside, and pecked her on the corner of her mouth which left her floating for the remainder of the conversation. Quinn nodded a lot and most likely agreed to something she will no doubt regret later in the future.

The next obstacle was Finn. She saw Rachel standing with him by the entrance and her desire to run towards them was curbed by the seriousness of the conversation. Finn was creepily brooding in the corner. She wondered what the hell they were talking about. Could Finn be begging Rachel for another chance? Was Rachel saying yes? Surely Rachel was not that dense to take him back, besides Quinn treated her _so _much better. She started to worry, like perhaps their somber mood had nothing to do with her, and so she went over to them in a hurry. As she approached, she realized they _were_ talking about her because Rachel's mood immediately changed when Quinn was within earshot.

"Quinn!" Rachel squealed her name and hugged her all at once, leaving her deaf in her right ear. Finn didn't smile. He stayed the same, not looking her in the eyes.

"What were you two talking about?" Quinn stood with her hands folded across her chest.

Rachel's face dropped at the seriousness in her tone. "Uh—just—"

"Me." She took in a deep breath and tried to remain calm. Rachel's silence and the way she swallowed the lump in her throat was as good enough of an admission. She straightened, her gaze turned inward and she became intent. "Right, well, see you love birds later."

Rachel hurried to her side and tried to grab onto her arm. "Quinn, it wasn't anything like that."

Quinn's only reply was to start walking towards her car. Twigs and branches snapped around them. Overhead she could hear birds flying away, startled, the flapping of wings heavy and close. She wanted to punch Finn in the face. She wanted to cry until Rachel comforted her. She wished they could go back an hour so she could confess her _true_ feelings to Rachel. Everything was ruined, maybe ruined forever. She was so angry and afraid she couldn't think straight.

When she stopped suddenly trying to catch her breath in her throat, Rachel bumped into her and they stumbled backwards. Quinn's back hit the car and Rachel fell into her arms. Rachel's eyes racked over her and she became incredibly conscious of the flare in her eyes. She tried to blink it away but Rachel had already witnessed it.

"Quinn, nothing's going on." She said quietly.

"So you weren't talking about me?"

"We were, but—"

"I'll see you later, Rach." She muttered, eyes closed. Rage swept over her, white-hot in its intensity.

She got into the car and drove off without a second glance. It was when she turned on the music—the compilation disc Rachel had made—shame washed over her for the loss of control, her useless anger and her stupid jealousy for Finn. Rage, threats, jealousy—that was something she wanted to put behind her and it shocked her how quickly and easily she had fallen back in.

The simple fact was she couldn't help herself. She acted on the spur of the moment. Often she didn't know what she was going to do five minutes before she did it. There's no explanation for anything. Her anger drives her to do things. Because it was there. Because you either respond to the emotion or you don't. It was as if she was under hypnosis. She saw Finn and Rachel talking: she saw _red_. They were talking about her: the rage built. Finn, with his tall frame and broad shoulders, stood there like a giant oaf: the rage push outward. Then robotically, she ignored Rachel and her protests, tried to ignore her rage and not deal with any emotions. And then it was done. She was home. She went straight to her room and ignored her mom.

Slowly, she came back into her mind and only to realize she had left Rachel at school. Quinn was her ride home. She laid there staring at the ceiling, unable to move, terrified by what she had done. There was no reason for it, sure, she was upset, but she was upset with Finn, so her anger shouldn't have triggered her to ignore Rachel altogether, nor should it have triggered her to ruin their normal, pleasant day. She had been abducted. She was not in control. Now she would live in this state of constant anxiety that she would be overtaken by this vacancy of mind. She left Rachel at school. Next time she might leave Rachel on the train. Even the plane. Don't be stupid, Quinn told herself, Rachel's big enough to know her own way home. You're not her mother.

A surge of panic passed through her and she sat up. Oh fuck, Rachel's going to kill me.

The instant the thought crossed her mind, Rachel was standing in her doorway, ripped with fury. Quinn had seen her happy, angry, beautiful, sad, drunk, hanging out. But not this, whatever it was. Rachel stood leering at her, her eyes shooting daggers. More likely fireballs. She seemed no different from her _girlfriend_ Rachel. After everything they'd been through, everything they'd shared—_this_ was something else. She stood suspended, as if about to begin a step. Quinn's mind was racing. Too many thoughts at once. She didn't know which one to act on.

She was in _so _much trouble.

"Baby," Quinn felt the hesitance in her own voice. "I—"

Rachel stepped forward and automatically Quinn stepped back. They did a little awkward dance until Rachel was beside her bed, and Quinn was standing at the end of it. Her expression wary, she stood in a limb-loose stance that told Rachel she didn't know whether to come towards her or back away. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, no doubt mentally preparing a long, wounded lecture. Quinn on the other hand, was preparing for it. If all Rachel's going to do is talk my ears off, I can handle that.

"You _left_ me." Rachel glared and threw a pillow at her. "How can you just drive off and leave me there?"

"Rachel," she interrupted. "My mom's home, keep your voice down."

It was the wrong thing to say. Rachel stomped her foot, she could no longer hold back her bottled-up frustrations. There was a dark satisfaction that spurted through her, and with all her strength, she swung another pillow at Quinn and smacked her right across the chest.

_Whomp!_ Quinn went down on the bed and landed—hard—on her front.

Rachel stared at her in amazement, she had not expected Quinn to be brought down by a pillow. Quinn didn't move. Rachel knocked her quite hard for a person of such a small stature, and it _hurt_.

"Quinn?" Her anger faded. She bent over, still clutching the pillow. "Are you okay? I didn't—"

Quinn's hand shot out, nearly snatching the pillow from her. Quick as she was, Rachel managed to yank the pillow free of her grasp and scooted back. With a smooth, fluid grace, Quinn rolled and came to her feet, face flushed, eyes hot. She reached for Rachel again, and focusing way too much on grabbing the pillow away, it hadn't prepared her for another smack. This time across the side of her body.

"Rachel, I'm sorry, okay! Now, give me the pillow."

Rachel just stared at her. Whatever rational or contrary thoughts she was having, did not want any part in taking Quinn's orders. She swung the pillow towards Quinn head, and this time she ducked. When she straightened again, Rachel froze at the furious expression on Quinn's face.

"That," Quinn said through her teeth. "Is it."

Rachel turned and ran for the bathroom and tried to shut the door, but Quinn shoved against it with such force that Rachel stumbled back. And Quinn, the idiot, momentarily worried for her girlfriend's safety, deflated and Rachel ran past her into her bedroom. The same process repeated. Rachel tried to whirl the door shut, Quinn was too quick and shoved it open. Rachel stumbled back against the thick mattress. This time, Quinn didn't deflate. Quickly, Rachel rolled to the other side to keep the bed between them, her pillow raised and ready.

"Give that to me," Quinn repeated, and suddenly lunged, grabbing the pillow and yanking it out of her hands.

Immediately, Rachel snatched the second pillow, and Quinn caught the wicked gleam in her eyes. "You know I'm going to win, Quinn."

An unexpected tickle of pleasure—and anticipation—cracked through her anger. "In your dreams." She said in a low growl.

Rachel was the first to act. She swung the pillow and it missed Quinn by inches, however, it forced her to move back and Rachel took the chance to dash around the bed and pummel her again.

"You are _such_ an idiot!" Rachel said.

_Whomp!_

"I told Finn that I was in love with you—"

_Whomp, whomp..._

"And that there's no chance for us."

_Whomp!_

"Ow! Rach, cut it out." Quinn said, but she was laughing.

With all the force of the temper, Rachel swung the pillow again. This time, Quinn ducked neatly, and threw her own pillow right in Rachel's stomach, knocking her back on the bed with an _ooph!_ Quinn followed, the weight of her body pressing Rachel down into the soft mattress. Her fingers closed over Rachel's wrists and pinned them above her head, trapping Rachel beneath her.

Panting from exertion and ire, Rachel stared up at her face. Quinn was absurdly pleased to see that Rachel was more than a little ruffled. Grumbling, Rachel narrowed her eyes, chest heaving, "What a typical Quinn Fabray response. When all else fails, overpower."

Quinn exhaled loudly and forcefully. "You can be so _annoying_, Rachel. I don't even know why I'm dating you."

"The feeling's mutual, Quinn." She retorted, glaring.

Their faces were inches from one another. Quinn felt Rachel's heaving breath, and it was cozy, like a river of warmth flowing through her. "I'm going to kiss you now." Quinn said.

"No—"

They kissed frantically, as though they've been starved for each other the way people can be starved for food or water or air. Quinn cupped Rachel's face in her hands and felt the clenching of her jaw against her palms. Rachel's knee pushed between her so that Quinn was straddling her thigh, and Rachel's other hand came up the small of her back, beneath her shirt. The touch of Rachel's skin against hers made her go dizzy but not weak.

Sensing they were no longer alone, Quinn turned around and saw Judy staring at them, her eyes wary. Quickly, Quinn plopped herself on the edge of the bed and Rachel followed. "Sorry, mom."

Judy's teeth gritted, like she was biting back a lot of other things she wanted to say. Instead, she said, "No funny business."

"Yes, ma'am." Rachel said. It was lame, but Quinn found it cute and giggled.

Once they were alone, Rachel stood right in front of her, arms folded, their bare knees touching. The heat between them hit her instantly. Quinn shouldn't have been, but she was excited. Goosebumps prickled her skin. She crossed her legs to ease the ache between them. This wasn't the time. Besides, her mother was home, and since Rachel's fathers discovered their relationship, they weren't able to be alone at her house either. 'The Rules' were still holding firm in both households, and it was beginning to get complicated.

The longer the stared at each other in silence, the more concern she became. By the time Rachel spoke, her stomach was in knots. "Quinn, what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't—"

"Finn doesn't mean anything to me," Rachel cupped her face in her hands, their eyes locked. "I love you."

Quinn mumbled incoherently, her voice ragged and something stung the back of her eyes. Rachel's fingers, so soft, so slender and warm, traced her jaw and down the length of her neck. "You know that, don't you?" Her voice almost pleading.

"Yeah." Quinn said in the same mumbled tone.

"What?"

"Yeah." She said louder.

"Then you need to stop this," Rachel held her gaze, and squeezed her hand in a silent gesture of understanding. "Yes, we were talking about you. Only because he asked me for another chance and I informed him that I'm unable to offer him anything." Rachel sat beside her and placed a kiss to her neck. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Why are you in love with me?" Quinn found herself asking.

Rachel was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

Despite the tension vibrating through her, she smiled faintly and said in a quiet voice, "I've done horrible things to you, Rachel. And Finn does one horrible thing and you haven't forgiven him. I feel like—" She sighed, unable to stop her hands from shaking.

"Quinn, what is it?"

Quinn tried to gather herself together. A wave of emotion overtook her. Pain? Panic? Regret? "I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm waiting for you to realize that I'm not—"

Rachel cut her off with a kiss. Quinn made a deep _mmmmm_ sound, wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist and drawing her closer. Rachel kissed her soundly, thoroughly, and leaving her breathless.

"You have nothing to worry about." Her eyes were silver in the sunlight, startling in their intensity, and Quinn decided she could easily look into those eyes for hours and hours.

The rest of her life.

"I know I will forgive Finn one day. Just not at the moment." Rachel said. "I didn't expect him to do anything like this. I thought we were friends. Friends don't do that."

"So you would expect it from me?"

Rachel nipped her bottom lip and nodded, "I suppose if we hadn't developed a friendship I would have." Composing herself, she said, "Now, kiss me."

"You like kissing?" Quinn leaned in, smiling.

"I do like kissing," her voice was a sultry whisper. "Especially you."

Quinn pulled back and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Okay, _only _you."

"Smart answer." And she kissed her. While their tongues played, she pulled up Rachel's shirt until she could touch warm bare skin.

She reveled in the warmth of Rachel's mouth over hers, devouring and burning with fire. Rachel's hand on her breast singed, she wound her fingers into brown hair, fisting the locks and lightly held the back of Rachel's head so she couldn't break the kiss. Rachel curled into the curve of her body, her hands moving down the length of Quinn's toned back. The room was stone quiet except for the gasps and pants, the soft sounds of mouth against mouth.

"This is torture," Rachel whispered against her neck. "We need a Plan B."

"Rachel." Quinn couldn't think of anything else to say but her name. It was like there was nothing else worth saying.

She kissed Rachel again, more slowly this time, and that only intensified the kiss. Both of Rachel's hands pressed against her back, and they held each other tighter and tighter, and Quinn started to wonder how much closer they could get. Quinn roamed one hand from Rachel's left breast to her right and then slowly moving down to her stomach, leaving it there for a few seconds, tugging the waist of her skirt. When Rachel didn't protest, Quinn slipped her hand inside, feeling the softness of her curls.

"Quinn," Rachel turned her head, her breath coming in shaky gasps. "Go to Prom with me."

Quinn's hold on her loosened. "What?"

"Go to prom with me." The rumble of Rachel's voice reverberated through her breasts, to her heart. Rachel leaned up to kiss her open mouth, but Quinn moved away,

"What did you say?"

"How many times are you going to make me repeat it?"

Their eyes met. Quinn moved away so that they could breathe normally, but she clasped both of Rachel's hands tightly. "You're serious?"

Rachel brightened so much that Quinn couldn't help but blush. "Why wouldn't I be serious?"

"I haven't said yes. Why are you so happy?"

"Don't you want to go?" Rachel gave Quinn her most melting, pleading look.

That look would've been more than enough to dissolve her into a puddle, but she tried to gather herself. "You're not thinking about running for Prom Queen together, are you?"

Rachel sighed as they looked at each other. "I'm asking you to Prom, Quinn, not to marry me."

Rachel shuffled on the bed until she was lying down, Quinn laid beside her, her head on Rachel's shoulder. Rachel ran her fingers through blonde hair. Quinn voice was muffled as she said, "Do we have to go?"

"I think it'll be fun." She shrugged. Rachel leaned down and kissed her, the most languid of kisses.

One night, alone with nothing but her thoughts, Quinn's mind drifted into the future and what their kids would look like. She hasn't the slightest clue why. She was staring at a photo of Rachel on her phone, and given her own generic background, it crossed her mind that they would have brown-haired children and that maybe being blonde skips a generation. And as if on autopilot, she used the iPhone app, _Build A Baby_ to see exactly what the baby would look like. Obviously she was getting ahead of herself.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"What were you thinking about?"

"Our kids."

"What?"

"Nothing," she quickly recovered and lifted slightly off the bed. "If you want to go then we'll go."

The real heart of love seemed to have moved from here. Since the day they met on tumblr, and tonight came to represent some mysterious point at which the way Quinn looked at Rachel began to change. Or perhaps she was beginning to change: ready for the next big thing to enter; the hard work involved in relationships as life rolls on. It's us against the world, she said to herself. Although five months wasn't an extremely long time, they had their fair share of ups and down, and have reached a point of new commitment and new intimacy. It was a powerful thing.

**•••**

**December 16th, 2016**

_This is Quinn. You know what to do._

"_Hi Quinn, its Rachel. I just called to wish you good luck with dinner tonight. I know it's your first dinner date. I wish I could give you advice on how to properly display yourself but I'm quite unsure myself having never to need a fake boyfriend before. Oh I guess I should say, don't talk with your mouth full, don't get too drunk, and smile for the cameras, act happy? Anyway, give me a call when you get back? What time does your flight land tomorrow? I forget. Give me a call, okay. I'm not doing anything tomorrow so we should do something. I miss you. Good bye."_

Quinn stood outside the restaurant and saw Mark sitting alone at the table. He dunked his ciabatta in the little dish of olive oil as if loading a paintbrush, and then opened the menu. Every time she was with him she felt a pang of longing that was partly love. For years now her heart had been heavy with love for Rachel, and now she had to pretend to be not just in love, but in carnal desire with someone else.

Their first public outing as a couple was nerve-racking. She was so used to going on dates with Rachel she didn't know what it felt like to be with someone else. Mark took charge from their first outing. He'd shield her from the paparazzi, he would open the door for her. On the way to a bar he had changed sides on the pavement so that she wouldn't get hit by a runaway bus. She had enjoyed being with him more than she had expected, and they had a lot in common. They debated about art, movies, books, and their cultural life. Things she found it hard to discuss with Rachel because it always led to bickering. They memorized answers to the right questions. How long have you two been dating? _We're friends. _Did sparks fly right away on the set of your movie? _No, we were friends and things developed from there_. What's it like and working and dating each other? _We're just friends_.

These answers piqued their interest more than announcing they were dating.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her heartbeat to its resting pulse. As she did so, her nostrils filled with stale cigarette smoke that floated in the air. There was a voice inside her head; it's been there for weeks. It's telling her, this is what you're supposed to do. You want to further your career you have to make an effort. No one ever got anything done by sitting and waiting for it to happen. Rachel understands why you're doing this. You've spoken to her about it and she's completely fine with it. She's even met Mark and she seemed to really warm to him. Now, enjoy having a fake boyfriend because you're never going to have a fake boyfriend again.

But it wasn't the feeling of guilt that kept her up at night. It was the loss of self-control. It's the fear that she might lose Rachel _because_ of this.

She contained the thoughts as best as she could and crossed the street.

Mark was protective, attentive, he was like an older brother who knew about lots of cool stuff, the difference being that he clearly wanted to sleep with her. Despite her mentioning several times that she's in love with Rachel. But so intent, so doting was his gaze that she frequently found herself feeling guilty and ashamed for what she was doing. That was how he grinned at her now, in the restaurant, standing with such enthusiasm that he knocked the table with his thighs, spilling the glass of water onto the complimentary olives.

"Should I get a cloth?" She asked.

"No, it's okay, there are napkins here."

Quinn wrapped her jacket around the back of the chair and sat down. He was staring at her again. It never made her feel flustered and blush the way Rachel does it, with her shy eyes and wide smile. God, I miss Rachel.

"You look so lovely." He blurted, unable to contain himself.

"Thank you! You too," she said reflexively. He had a crumpled linen jacket over a plain black t-shirt. "I like this," she said, indicating the jacket. "Pretty sharp!"

The waiter took the order for their drinks and Mark said, "Did you see the paparazzi outside?"

"I saw camera flashes, not anyone in particular."

"How's Rachel taking it?"

She really didn't want to think about Rachel tonight. It'll only make her feel worse about herself. "She's okay with it."

"Man, I'd love a relationship like that."

Quinn forced a smile and consulted the menu to distract her thoughts. Mark had prepared the menu humor in advance, and while Quinn tried to concentrate he went into his act and ran through some of the choicer puns (he was a part-time comedian): penne for your thoughts etc. Is this a minute steak or a mine-ute, like a really, really small steak? And what was it with 'ragu' these days, when did good old spaghetti bolognese become 'ragu'? What, he speculated, would they, like call, 'alphabetti spaghetti'? Moist alphabetical forms in a sauce rogue? Or what?

As line followed line, Quinn felt her hopes for the evening fade. It was already bad enough being here, he had to make it unbearable to be here. He is trying to laugh me into bed, she thought, when in fact what he is really doing is laughing me into the crazy home. When they had been to the cinemas there had at least been the pictures, talking and violence to distract him, but here, face to face, there was nothing but a compulsion to riff.

She gulped down her vodka and tonic. Mark had the wine list now, and was doing his material about how snooty wine is: _a voluptuous mouthful of forest fire with a back note of exploding toffee apple_ etc. The C-major scale of the amateur stand-up, this routine had potential to be infinite, and Quinn found herself imagining Rachel across from her. Rachel with a fantastical figure who didn't make a big deal about it, just looked at the wine list and ordered, unpretentiously but with authority.

"... flavors of smoky bacon Wotsits with a succulent back note of giraffe..."

He's laughing me into a stupor, she thought. I could heckle, I guess, I could through a bread roll at him, but he's eaten them all. She glanced at the other diners, all of them going into their act, and thought, this is what it all boils down to? Romantic love, is this what it really looks like from an outsider? Artificial. Eat a meal, go to bed, fall in love with me and I promise you years and years of great material like this? It made her appreciate the fact that she didn't need to go through any typical dating rituals with Rachel. She definitely did not have to sit through _this_ with her. At least with Rachel when Quinn wasn't listening she could stare at her pretty face and imagine ways to devour her.

She actually kind of liked Mark, purely platonic of course, had hoped that tonight they could further explore their friendship, she didn't have many friends in the industry, but instead he was saying...

"... our orange juice is orange with a heavy bass note of oranges..."

Alright, I've had enough.

"... squeezed, no, _seduced _from the cows, the flavors have a distinctive milkness..."

"Mark?"

"What?"

"Shut up, will you."

A silence followed with Mark looking hurt and Quinn not hurt nor embarrassed for saying it. It must have been the double vodka. They ordered their food.

_Hey Quinn, it's me again. I know you're out with Laughing Boy but I just wanted to tell you that Brittany lent me the Star Wars trilogy and I thought we could watch it together. You know, through the phone. Since __you're a nerd I suspect you'll be able to explain some of the Star Wars terminology to me. Like what is a Skywalker? Are you having a good time? I hope he's not doing that material where he reads the menu as puns. Remember the first time I met him and he read the whole wine list? You kept kicking me to not laugh. I don't know how you contained your laughter so well. So. Whenever you come back give me a call. That's all. Good bye._

They reminisced about the five months of filming in L.A. and Mexico, the good and the bad. While Quinn had the soup then fish, Mark had gone for a medley of carbohydrates, starting with an immense bowl of meaty pasta. This and the red wine had sedated her a little and she relaxed too, was in fact well on her way to drunkenness. Rachel was not going to like this. But why not? Didn't she deserve it? The last few months had been spent working hard at something she believed in and in the process she has to continue to act outside of her career in order to keep her job. She had the right to celebrate. And Rachel would understand. Quinn will explain all this to her tomorrow and they'll laugh at Mark's ridiculous material and all the stupid things he said.

He poured the last of the wine into her glass. "So have you seen anyone since fiming finished?"

"Not really. I bumped into Scott once outside Madison Square, that awful Italian. He was fine, still grumpy. Apart from that, I try to avoid it. It's a bit like a prison—it's best to not associate with them. Except you of course." She was being way too honest. This was not good.

"It couldn't have been that bad. You enjoyed yourself a bit, didn't you?"

"It was five months of my life I'll never get back." Spoken aloud, the observation shocked her but she shrugged it away. "I was going through a lot with Rachel at the time. It was hard to enjoy everything, really. It wasn't a very happy time for me, that's all."

He smiled ruefully and nudged her knuckles with his. "Is that why you were constantly checking your phone for missed calls?"

"Did I? I don't remember. Probably." She raised the glass to her lips.

"You don't like to talk about it, do you?"

"It's personal. I want to keep that part of my life to myself. What happens between Rachel and I is no one's business."

"Is she getting her memories back?"

"She gets bits and pieces. I doubt she'll ever get it back, which is something we've both accepted so it's comforting now. We're moving on from it."

"You know," he leaned back in his seat. "I don't think you did the wrong thing by divorcing her. You shouldn't listen to what people say. They don't know everything that goes behind closed doors. Hell, I probably would've done the same. I mean, how do you love someone who doesn't remember you?"

The conversation was getting too personal so she changed it. "Let's talk about something else. How's the stand-up career going?"

"Oh alright. I've got this improv gig which is real seat-off-the-pants stuff, really unpredictable. Sometimes I'm just not funny at all!" I won't disagree there. "But I suppose that's the joy of improv, isn't it?" Quinn wasn't sure that this was true but nodded just the same. "And I do this Tuesday night gig at The Laughter Lab. It's a bit more hard-edged. Like I do this material about advertising. Like the stupid adverts on TV?..."

He slipped into his routine and Quinn freeze-framed her smile. It would kill him if she admitted it but in all the time she had known Mark he had caused her to laugh perhaps twice, and one of those was when he fell down the stairs. He was a man with a great sense of humor while at the same time being in no way funny. Unlike Rachel: Rachel had no interest in jokes at all, Rachel didn't even have the sense of humor that Mark had. Sometimes she took things too seriously, and yet with Rachel she laughed all the time, more than she does with anybody, in fact, hysterically. When Rachel had visited her one time in New Haven, they laughed for ten days straight, in-between bickers and arguments. What was Rachel doing now? She wondered.

"I'm going to use the men's room." He was up before she could respond.

She searched through her bag for her phone and was disappointed to find that it had been off this entire time. Her smile widened as she listened to Rachel's voice messages. Why isn't Rachel with her tonight? She was taken aback by the sudden rush of love she felt for Rachel, and decided that she'll call her and tell her how great she is, how much she really, really loves her and how sexy she is in a way that she doesn't think she's sexy which makes her even more sexier and Quinn can't wait to see her because that's all she wants to do, spend the rest of her life with Rachel.

Her phone started to ring just as Mark sat back down and she eyed Rachel's name on the screen.

"I'll be right—"

"Excuse me." Said a girl in a Canadian accent.

Quinn looked up. "Hi."

"Aren't you Quinn Fabray?"

"Um, yeah, I—"

"I'm such a huge fan of yours. I've been sitting over there for an hour trying to figure out if it is really you." She smiled broadly and took Quinn's hand, shaking it vigorously, then Mark's. "So it's true. You two are dating?"

Mark held his hand up. "Guilty as charged! But don't tell anyone."

_Me again! Just checking in. So I started Stars Wars without you. I watched Episode I but Google told me to watch Episode IV first. Why is that Quinn? Shouldn't it be watched in chronological order? This is why I need you. You're probably having too good of a time to miss me. Has he made any weird jokes? I want to know everything. What else did I want to say? Nothing. I think that's it. So when you get back give me a call. Good bye._

They spent half an hour talking to the fan and by the time the second wine bottle arrived there was no doubting that they were drunk. The whole restaurant seemed drunk, even the silver-haired pianist, clattering sloppily through _I Get a Kick Out of You_, his foot pumping the sustain pedal as if someone had cut his brake cable. They were forced to raise their voices through all the chattering and she began to laugh quite naturally—well, as natural as the alcohol allowed.

They split the bill two ways as promised and on the way out Mark pulled the door open, sharply kicking the bottom so that it gave the illusion of having hit him in the face. "Little bit of physical comedy there..."

Quinn couldn't understand it. Even when drunk she still didn't find his materials funny.

Outside a heavy curtain of black and purple cloud had formed across the sky. The cold wind had that ferric tang that precedes a storm, and Quinn felt pleasantly woozy and wine-flavored. Two paparazzi started flashing their cameras, the sound of camera clicks deafening her. They started yelling questions like, Are you two on a date? How was it? Did you have a good time? Mark shot her an unnerving wink, straightened his jacket, and stood with his back like a statue, offering her his arm like the gentleman escort role. He managed to obscure his disdain from the photographers and led them away from the catastrophe. At least the plan had worked.

_Hey Quinn, sorry to call again. I was going to stay up and wait for you but its past midnight now. I'm guessing you had a good time? I'm going to go to sleep now. I'll see you tomorrow? I lo_—_Good night_.

Mark's studio apartment was lit only by the sodium of the street lamps and the occasional searchlight of the passing buses. Several times a minute the whole room vibrated, shaken by one or more of the night buses which often passed through. In terms of public transport, it was probably the greatest apartment in L.A, but only on those terms. Quinn could feel the tremors in her back as she sat on the couch.

"How can you stand these noises?" She asked, referring to the buses.

"You get used to it. Also I've got these—" He pointed towards two fat maggots of grey wax on the window ledge. "Mouldable wax ear-plugs."

"Oh, that's nice."

"Except I forgot to take them out the other day. Thought I had a brain tumor. I couldn't hear anything for a good half an hour."

Quinn laughed, then groaned as another bubble of nausea released. "I should go."

She noticed his face fall even through her drunken-haze. "Oh okay. If that's what you want."

They listened to the sound of tires on the wet street, white light scanning the room. She stood unsteadily and straightened the front of her jacket. "I've got a photo shoot and a flight to catch tomorrow. Plus Rachel's probably wondering where I am. I've had a lovely time."

"Me too—"

"Just too much alcohol—"

"Me too—"

"I'll go back to my hotel and sober up."

"Are you sure? It's late though."

She looked at her watch. 12:26 a.m. Beneath her feet the subway rumbled by, reminding her that she stood in the dead center of a remarkable transport hub. There's bound to be a cab outside somewhere, arrive at the hotel by 1:00 a.m. easy, call Rachel before bed. Yes, she wanted to talk to Rachel. It would be worth walking in the rain if it meant she could talk to her.

"Yeah, I'm going to go. Thanks for a lovely time." She stood on her tip-toes and placed a kiss on his cheek.

_Hey Rach. It's me. I got your messages and now you're sleeping. I just got back to my hotel room. I'm sorry I couldn't return any of your calls till now, I'm a bit drunk, well, really drunk I guess. My plane lands at four tomorrow so I'll be at your place around five, maybe? I don't know, depends on the traffic. Tonight started off pretty awkwardly, he read the menu and the wine list too, but then I told him to shut it and things got slightly better after that. He's not so bad to hang out with. Kind of like Puck 2.0 without the crude jokes. I miss you. I really, really miss you. I haven't thanked you for being so understanding during all this. I know it can't be easy. I know that I wouldn't be able to watch you hang off someone else's arms. I'm sorry for putting you through this. Two more months, okay? Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. I_—_Good night._

**•••**

**December 17th, 2016**

_US WEEKLY. ISSUE 566._

_There are two rumors about Quinn Fabray... So which rumor would she like to address first?_

'_Oooh, I love this," the newly turned 24-year-old says in her peculiar L.A via New York accent. 'It's just like truth or dare!'_

_OK, the first rumor is about the reputation. There is a video going around on Youtube of a co-hosting spot that she did showcasing her unprofessional behavior on television. From what we've seen, Fabray was drunk. There was a lot of fumbling and nervousness on her end. Unflinchingly, she says, 'It was unprofessional of me to be drunk on television. I was extremely nervous going into that interview. But I guess every celebrity gets a "reputation" some time in their career. The fact that mine started out so early is kind of astonishing. I guess I've joined the club.'_

_So that rumor's out of the way. _

_The second rumor is that Fabray was spotted in clubs around L.A recently cosying up to her co-star Mark Morley. So does that mean she's bisexual? Straight? Fabray was once married to Broadway star Rachel Berry, however, sadly that marriage ended following the outcome of an accident which left Berry with retrograde amnesia. We weren't allowed to ask about her marriage or even the fall-out, stated clearly by her manager, but regarding Mark, she says with a delighted squeal, 'He's a great friend. We have a lot in common and during filming we've grown very close.'_

Quinn was one of the celebrities offered for the cover of the January issue of _Us Weekly_, depicting the life of her new-found celebrity status. She knew why they picked her. It wasn't for her new movie and her astounding acting skills and steamy love scenes. She was simply the new hot girl in a new movie with a reputation. She doubted they even knew about the movie before they met her, they probably had no idea who she was to begin with. Of course, she panicked and gave a million reasons why she shouldn't do it, but her publicist and manager thought it was a great opportunity. A cover is a cover. Oh, and she had a publicist now. Rachel was right about needing one to resurrect her career, after all. Maybe she was a delinquent?

It was hard to argue with her manager and publicist. They knew better than she did. The cover of _Us_ _Weekly_ complimented the fresh-faced up-and-coming celebrity image they were trying to create. She was extremely nervous walking into her trailer that was sitting atop a hill at the location chosen for the shoot. She felt unprepared and anxious. She was embarrassed to shake the hands of the picture editor and the executive editor of the magazine. She didn't know how to play the character for the interview. She couldn't exactly be herself. The truth about Quinn Fabray—the lesbian in a secret relationship with her ex-wife now girlfriend—needed to stay hidden. The heterosexual, self-confident American actress needed to emerge. She had finally discovered and accepted who she is and now had to convey the image of a woman she wasn't.

They had subtly written a character for her to play in the public, gently coercing her to play the role of an ingénue, fresh but glamorous and with an ounce of naïveté. They guided her into the character by favoring romantic dresses over sexy dresses for red carpet events and to most questions about the movie and her life, they smiled with approval when she answered that her journey from a girl in small town Lima who started off with no real direction to Hollywood actress was a "dream come true". It seemed effortless and surprising: a Cinderella story.

Besides, most of the successful, leading-lady actresses had graduated from this rite of passage.

'_What does that mean?'_

'_It means that we're new to this business and learning how to handle all the pressures that come with it.'_

_Fabray was very coy in regards to answering the question. That rumor is left unresolved._

_As this was her first magazine interview, we decided to go a little easy on her. It's been known that Berry is the star out of the two of them. Last year, Berry outed them during her first magazine interview. When asked how Quinn had felt about it she said, 'We discussed it. We were getting married in a couple of weeks so it was only reasonable that we came out.' She also added,_

'_I'll never regret my time with Rachel. She's an amazing woman and we've maintained a great friendship.'_

_We tried one more time_—_'There's nothing between you and Mark?'_

_She laughs nervously, 'Mark is smart and handsome. I'm very smitten with him. He's been in the industry a little longer than I have and he's given me some very good advice on my job as an actress. We enjoy each other's company and, I don't know, maybe there could be more.'_

_We certainly have reason to believe that there's more to their relationship than meets the eye. When speaking about Morley, Fabray blushed and smiled shyly. It was hard to miss the love in her eyes. We sense a greater connection than anyone thought. This could very well be Hollywood's new power couple._

After the photo shoot she was on a plane to New York. In the end she played the heterosexual, self-confident American actress extremely well. Her publicist gave her several thumbs ups when she answered questions regarding Mark with such love. During the entire interview she inhaled and nodded her head a lot. She wanted to tell the person that it felt strange, that she felt out of place, that she was scared of not delivering. Quinn wanted to tell her that she felt pressure to be this image they created for her, to be someone other than who she was. She wanted to say that she felt isolated and that maybe she kind of hated the movie. But she didn't.

Most people would kill to have the opportunity that was given to her. How could she possibly complain to anyone that she didn't like it, heaps of money and fame, the most desired things in society, made her feel uncomfortable? While she waited for her genuine enjoyment to set in, she will simply lie about how much fun she was having.

When she reached New York and picked up her baggage, she called Rachel twice but there was no answer. She caught a cab and on the way she noticed a woman who was about the same age as she was, walking and reading a text book on Anatomy. She glanced away from the book before she could hit the pole. Quinn couldn't help but wish that were her. She wished she were a student living in New York, dating and going to parties. She wished she could travel to another city and stay over at a friend's house without worrying about curfew and what her manager had planned for her the next day. She wished she could walk down the street without worrying about the paparazzi. She wished she could have a life where she could just be with Rachel.

Once she reached Rachel's apartment, Quinn called again but there was still no answer. She let herself in and when she called out to Rachel and was responded with silence, she walked into the bedroom and sure enough, Rachel was sleeping. It was just after five. She stood in the doorway watching Rachel's sleeping figure before deciding to change and as soon as she got into bed, Rachel pressed her face against Quinn's shoulder, murmured something, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, reaching up to touch Quinn's face. That light, carefree abandon swept over her and she took the opportunity for happiness and used it like a salve to cover and heal her scars of sorrow and distress.

"I missed you." Rachel said quietly.

"You too. I mean, me too. I miss you, too."

By tomorrow, they'll be apart again and she knows this short time will only be a memory. But for now it stretched out before her as infinite as a sky full of stars, and she didn't want to think about what would come after. That would ruin it. What mattered was here and now.


	14. Chapter 14

_You've got me thinking about how you look at four a.m  
>And how much milk you pour in your coffee<br>And how my hand fits in yours  
>You've got me thinking about all the places I want to take you<br>And the things I want to show you  
>And the look on your face when you see it all<br>You've got me thinking about all this thinking  
>And thinking that I'm thinking too much<br>And thinking asdfghjlkshgd  
>Because all I can think about is you<em>

_—_Anonymous

_**•••**_

**January 4th, 2017**

Suddenly everything started to _fall_.

The first time it happened Rachel was sitting in the passenger's seat. Her manager Alex in the driver's seat. They were driving around in Boston. She had imagined the car going in rapid acceleration and the possibility of the two front tires rising up as they turned onto the road. She had imagined that the propulsion afforded by the steepness of the road would enable the car to glide down for as long as it carried. She had not imagined the terror of her ignominious end, of becoming airborne as her body continued to blithely _fall_. She felt—if there was an adequate way of describing it—serenely panicked. The horizontal earth was flying vertically around her, very fast. Her head dropped to the window. She had no control over her motions as in a dream. She thought perhaps the car had fallen into the water. It seemed she was underwater, one only among a species, giant manta rays drifting free through the stately oceans. Her eardrums popped. And then silence.

She remembered her head hurt too much, though the blood in her ears and eyes were comfortably warm. She stood somehow, her back ached tremendously. Then she thought she was walking in a garden, perhaps the Zoological Garden, the New York Zoo on a cool fall day, and she was a giraffe, a giraffe made of air, swaying gently, stretching to eat more sky. Her head felt cool up there. She wondered where Quinn was. Quinn would love this. Then she found herself bending at the knees, and just as suddenly she was flying. Up there, up somewhere, a little dizzy, she heard someone say, Rachel, its okay we're almost there. Hang in there. She tried to follow the source of the voice but to no avail. She missed Quinn. She wanted to hear Quinn's voice. Then she seemed to be leaning against some very solid structure. The feel of a warm arm around her shoulder. She was standing in Downtown Manhattan with Quinn by her side. She looked up at the vast building in front of them, dingy white streaked with rain, water dripping from the connecting drains.

Welcome to our first home. You're not upset are you?

Why would I be?

I just thought you might have expected more.

Rachel studied the name by the buzzers. _Benoit/Rosnik, P. Henderson, S. Foreseth_. Let's go and find the landlady and get our names printed on here. _Berry-Fabray_ has a good ring to it, don't you think?

We've discussed this, Rachel. I won rock, paper, scissors fair and square. My name goes first.

You cheated.

How is it possible to cheat in that game? I won ten to one.

She felt very peaceful by now; the dizziness had gone. Perhaps it was because everything suddenly felt so familiar. Their friends were there helping them unload the boxes. Her fathers and Judy decorating the apartment together. She bought stripe pink curtains, her favorite item in the entire apartment. Although it was their first apartment, Quinn mainly resided in New Haven in the dorms. This apartment was to establish the commitment of their relationship, to establish a happily ever after with each other. Besides, they couldn't very well have proper sex if Rachel had a roommate. Which was also the reason for this apartment. They tested that theory a few weeks into college. Roommates didn't allow for privacy and they needed all the privacy they could get. It wasn't easy financially, but they worked hard. It was the strength of their independence.

And then everything disappeared and she was a little confused. Everything was dark again and she was very tired and wanted to lie down for a moment.

She took a short nap and when she woke up she had been asleep for fourteen hours, and the light was very bright. She was in the hospital, Alex was beside her bed. There was a doctor by her side and he shone a torch into her eyes and said, Rachel, you are somewhat concussed and have suffered a blackout. Do you remember what happened? She shook her head telling him all she remembered was the feeling of _falling._ He took her blood pressure, drew some blood from her veins, prescribed her Flunarizine tablets and said that he would call her with the results in a few days.

"Did you call my fathers?" Rachel had asked.

"I did. They were extremely worried. I told them if anything changes I'll let them know."

"Quinn?"

"Um, no. She's not your next of kin anymore."

She didn't know why, but she was relieved Quinn didn't know.

The second time it happened while she was with her friends and Quinn in her apartment. It wasn't as heavy or significant as the first one. The tablets had worked to some extent. She has been trying to catch her breath ever since. She has attempted to remain composed, for the most part, in the face of both glory and catastrophe.

The tablets helped her to get through the long days of interviews and flying across the country. It worked by smoothing her out, and yet after a while they were just so inconsistent. One night in bed she was a little angry to think there were stonemasons nearby sawing through granite—what the hell were they doing up at this time of the night—and at one point she called Quinn to help identify the noise, but Quinn claimed she couldn't hear anything at all. She was quite embarrassed several nights later when she realized it had only been the grinding of her teeth.

At other times she got somewhat exhausted and _needed_ noise to deafen the clatter in her brain, some kind of override device. The days that followed after the second blackout, she would come home late at night not knowing what to do with herself, not knowing how to properly sit on the couch. She would pace around, dread chewing in her stomach. She turned on the television as loud as possible and let the clatter soothe her head. It was when she heard the noise of a machine gun firing from the screen everything began to still. It was horrifying sitting there and listening to nothing but gun shots. It enabled her to confirm to herself that things were not well. But the noise was magnificent, and took her away for a moment from her own sense of exhaustion and into a still silent place, warm and welcoming.

Her doctor couldn't be sure where the headaches were coming from. It all came down to stress and she believed him. She has been stressed, anxious, completely all over the place. She was working non-stop, every day. Then the doctor prescribed her Valium, and it was everything she'd ever dreamt of, the peace of the oasis, the whiteness of the blossom. She had a condition which needed medicating. It was nothing to be ashamed of.

It was so very good to breathe again. The Valium made it easier for her to get up in the mornings, it unhindered all the obstacles. Everything was pleasant and it allowed her to think comfortably.

The phone in her apartment rang and she sat up sharply, listening to her own voice mixed with Quinn's on the answering machine. "So—talk to us!" Quinn said the last line, urbane and confident. She hadn't bothered to change the message since Quinn moved out.

The machine beeped. "Oh. Okay then. Hi there. It's me." Rachel felt the familiar relief at the sound of Quinn's voice, and was about to pick up when she remembered that they were arguing and she is meant to be sulking. "I guess you've already left? Your cell is off so I figured I'll try this phone hoping to catch you. Maybe you're still sleeping? Anyway, just wanted to say big day today so really, really, good luck. Seriously, good luck. You'll be fine, more than fine, you'll be great. Just wear something nice and don't talk in that weird voice. And I know you're annoyed with me for not coming but I'll be watching and cheering at the TV like some idiot—"

Rachel quickly got out of bed, stared at the machine. She contemplated picking up.

"I don't know what time I'll be back tonight, you know how wild these red carpet events can be. This crazy business we call showbiz. I'll call later. Good luck, Rach. And by the way, you've _got_ to change that answering machine message. That was three years ago, I sound like a kid on sugar."

And she's gone. Rachel contemplated calling straight back, but felt that tactically she ought to sulk a little longer. They have argued again. Quinn thinks that she doesn't like her _fake_ boyfriend, and despite Rachel's passionate denials there's no getting over the fact that she doesn't like her _fake_ boyfriend.

She has tried, really she has. The three of them have sat together in cinemas and restaurants and taken photos for the paparazzi portraying this wonderful friendship she and Quinn have embarked on since their divorce and she's _smiled_ for the sake of smiling. Rachel has sat across the tables from Quinn and meeting her eyes and smiling her approval as Mark shuffles at Quinn's neck—the paparazzi flashing their cameras excitedly from outside. She has accompanied Quinn to one of his shows at The Laughter Lab to watch Mark's observational stand-up (he was a part-time comedian), and Quinn grinning nervously at Rachel's side—the paparazzi flashing their cameras excitedly from inside. She has even sat at his tiny kitchen in his apartment and played a game of Trivial Pursuit so savagely and competitively that it was like bare-knuckle boxing—no paparazzi there, so she didn't see the point of being in his apartment in the first place.

Irrationally, unreasonably, she has become—what? Jealous? —no, not jealous, but resentful perhaps. She has always expected Quinn to be there, a resource she can call upon at any time like the emergency services. Since the cataclysm of the accident and their new relationship she has found herself more and more reliant on Quinn at exactly the point that she has become less available to Rachel. She used to return phone calls immediately, now go hours without a word. She's been "away with Mark" she has said, but where do they go? What do they do? Buy furniture together? Go to bars? Watch his ridiculous show that isn't even funny? Mark has even met Judy. My mom loves him, she has said. Why does her fake boyfriend need to meet her mother? Judy is only supposed to love her.

Most annoyingly, Quinn seemed to be relishing this new-found independence from Rachel. She feels as though she's being taught a lesson, as if she's being slapped round the face with Quinn's new commitment to alter the public's perspective of her reputation. "You said that you were fine with this, Rachel. I can't stop doing this now." Quinn had said, gloatingly, and now they've argued once again, and all because Quinn won't be there in the studio for the live broadcast of Rachel's interview.

"What do you want me to do, cancel the appearance? You know I can't do that."

"Your appearance is tonight, my interview is in the morning."

"I'm in another state."

"Catch a flight—"

"I need time to get ready. I don't want to rush—"

"You'll have plenty of time. It's not going to be that long."

"Rachel, please be reasonable. You have to understand why I'm doing this. It's my job."

And Rachel knew she was being churlish, but it would help to see Quinn in the audience. She's a better performer when Quinn's around, and wasn't that what was required of Quinn to do, to rise up and keep her at her best? Quinn was her talisman, her lucky charm and now she won't be there and her fathers won't be there and she wondered why she was doing this at all.

After a long shower she felt a little better, full of trepidation but exhilaration too. She had breakfast, got dressed and was about to head out the door when the phone rang once again. She let the answering machine pick up.

"Hi Rachel, it's your father here—" Then another voice, "And your other father." Rachel giggled at their nonsense. "We just wanted to wish you good luck for today. It's all very exciting. We will be watching. Give us a call when you've finished, okay?" There was a momentary pause as they both began talking to each other rather than talking to her. Rachel heard the whole conversation, What do you mean I never said good luck? I just said good luck. Tell her we love her, you didn't mention that and how very, very sorry we are for not being there, you know how dramatic she can be. Do you want to talk to her Hiram? It's her answering machine, Leroy, that's not Rachel. Oh great look what you did, now she's going to hear this whole conversation. My fault? This is your— "Rachel," Hiram spoke into the phone. "Good luck, sweetie. We love you."

Rachel did a final check around the apartment to make sure she had everything, and with her hand on the doorknob, she felt it again: the sensation of _falling_. The first sign was when the images went out of focus, and she hurried to reach for her medication when the second shock cut in, and then everything cascaded and blurred. The floor beneath her shuddered. The walls lurched wildly back and forth. The light fitting flailed like a metronome. The room kept shaking. There was a humming in her ear. All this took place in less than a minute but it was a very long minute indeed and before she could finish dialling 9–1–1 everything went dark for a second and when she opened her eyes she was three-hundred feet in the air.

All around her there were screams and carnival music, children laughing, the sounds of machines and _dings_ and _dongs_ and just plain annoying beeps everywhere. The rollercoaster was slipping into that final stage, the long slide and you feel powerless to stop. She pressed her spine hard into the seat. In near-vertical descent the rollercoaster reached terminal velocity. She turned when someone grabbed onto her hand and Quinn was smiling at her. She was beside herself with pleasure. Crystal patterns broke and reformed in the front of her eyes.

That was amazing. Are you okay, Rach?

Yeah, I think so.

What do you want to do now?

I want a teddy bear.

Okay, we'll go buy you one.

I want you to win it for me, Quinn.

What am I? Your toy-winning girlfriend?

You _are_ my girlfriend. It's romantic.

Why can't you win me one?

I'm not skilled enough for these games—

You won Jesse a Care Bear.

I...

Got you there, didn't I, Berry?

I'm going to ignore you said that. If there were, for example, a singing competition, I will no doubt be able to win you whatever you wished.

Even a flying car?

There's no such thing.

It will be in thirty years' time.

You'll get your flying car when I get my mansion.

I'll hold you to that.

I don't doubt it.

She tried to regain her breath. Her temples throbbed. It was funny how she felt to be entirely weightless. Rachel was somehow lost in all the lights of the carnival, the spangled patterns, the stars, the sand, the water, the beautiful lights. In that moment, she felt connected to it, to _everything_.

She was very aware of Quinn. Quinn's body pressed to hers. She loved nothing more than the feeling of Quinn's hand on her cheeks, trailing down her neck. The utter simplicity of it, the peace she felt. She had the sense that her mind was soaking up the memory and storing it away for future use. That turned out in a way, to be the case, for now Rachel is remembering the day of the carnival. She remembered just in that moment, on that glamorous and distant night, the delicate pressure of Quinn's fingertips on her skin was what it meant to be a couple. It seemed that her future was contained there in the past. Remembering that time made her happy, she was happy in her remembering, too. They spoke so much that day. They walked hand in hand, went on as many rides as possible. After each ride Quinn would hug her close and kiss her. How extraordinary Quinn was. Rachel had never seen a greenness so transparent in those eyes. Quinn is in love with her. She had to remind herself of that fact several times a day. The very idea seems preposterous even now.

Her mind swooped into a slowness, and Quinn was drifting away from her. There were other thoughts, more distant and more panicked. The fast thoughts were very annoying to the slow thoughts. The fast thoughts said, You are about to wake up from this blackout, you're about to go back to reality. Her mind was split entirely in two. She was gripped with the sweet hopeless feeling that within a few minutes she would doze off into sleep. Of course, the fast thoughts refused to let her rest. It was all a thrumming and a throbbing.

This condition, whatever it is. It's a catastrophe in all her glory.

On opening her eyes she felt very flat, and all safety had dissolved. It was difficult to keep her mind straight, everything was moving around in cycles. She carefully took in the room and the world around her. Someone took a hold of her hand. With effort she forced her head to the side. Alex was smiling at her. She knew she was awake because her head was nodding rhythmically. He handed her a glass of water and she drunk it with great gulps. The bed dipped and Alex was sitting on the edge, he looked sad.

"Hi." Despite having drunk the water her mouth was dry and couldn't make the right movements to allow the sound to escape. The word, when it finally reached her ears, sounded like nonsense, one of those words children make up when they're speaking in tongues. But it was a sound.

"Hey, you're in the hospital."

She sat up on the bed in the half-dark room, listening to the universe vibrate. Even in the gloom she could see the troubled expression etched across Alex's face. "What happened?"

"You fainted, Rachel. You don't remember anything?"

"I—I remember heading out the door and then—" The carnival. The rollercoaster rides. Quinn. Happiness. "—then I woke up."

"You've been asleep for ten hours. Your fathers and Quinn have been—"

"The interview! What—"

He held up his hand to stop her from speaking. "I waited outside for you for an hour. I came up a bit worried because you're usually very punctual. I kept calling you and I heard your cell ring so I knew you were in here. I knocked and knocked and then I went to see the landlord and he opened the door. You were lying unconscious on the floor." He rolled his tongue on his cracked bottom lip. "I've rescheduled the show. You don't have to worry about it. There'll be a spot reserved for you when you're feeling better."

"What time is it?"

"Eight p.m." He struggled for words. "The doctor said that you had a blackout. Is the medication not working?"

"It has been. I don't know why—"

"Rachel, I think you need to seek proper help."

"The doctors don't know what's wrong. The medication has been working for the past few weeks."

"They can run further tests if you let them. I know you're scared but if this keeps happening—"

"I'll get it under control. I'll manage it. I've been managing it for weeks now."

Alex was not convinced. "It's happened twice and you're lucky both times I'm here. What happens if it's on stage? You could've easily blacked out while doing the interview."

Rachel was exhausted from the thinking and planning and remembering. But she knew there was nothing to worry about. The medicine would get her through. "Can I have my medication?"

Alex handed her the Valium and he watched as she swallowed it with water. "How often do you take that?"

"As prescribed."

"Nothing more?"

"Of course."

"It's a very addictive medication. You need to be careful."

"I know." She really did.

The thing is, at times she would feel stuck, and it was hard to get out of it. There was a loop. It was like a wolf, always there, always waiting for you to make a mistake. It would take you down and you were gone: the loop began, it fed on itself, it just kept eating and eating. What people don't understand is that the medication helped her keep the loop at bay. Valium allows, somehow, miraculously, the thoughts, the movements and the words to keep on coming out in the right direction. It allowed her to function every day without the clutter of whatever was happening in her head.

"I'll just let the nurse know you're awake and I'm going to get a cup of coffee."

Though her room was quiet, she could hear the faint hum from the machine in the other rooms, droning on and off. It was an unpleasant sound, reminding her of the time she had woken from the accident. During that time she drifted in and out of consciousness, all she heard were sounds that she couldn't recognize. One machine, beeping with her heart rate, was strangely soothing, and she had found herself lulled to never-land time and time again.

When the nurse came in, Rachel could see the concern on her face through squinted eyes as she scanned the chart in her hands. "How are you feeling, Rachel?"

"Better, I guess. When can I go home?"

"We'd like to keep you overnig—"

"No, really. I'm okay. I just want to go home."

"Rachel, this is serious," she said sternly. "Your condition is beyond a headache. Blackouts are extremely severe and if left untreated could lead to death."

"Could this have something to do with the accident? Am I relapsing in some way?"

"Possibly," the nurse's face remained concerned. "We won't know for certain unless we do all the tests. But tonight we'd like to keep you here for observation in case it could happen again."

She closed her eyes for a few minutes while her head alternately pounded and subsided. Her lungs ached with every breath and she was oddly sweating. She was anxious, but felt worse knowing that what came next was going to change everything.

The nurse took her silence as a yes and said, "I'm going to be here all night if you need anything."

Alex came in just as the nurse left and Rachel told him she was staying the night. He was pleased to hear this. As they made light chatter, she felt a new sensation of relief knowing that everything was about to change. She couldn't imagine living day after day constantly battling in a fight you could never win. These headaches exhausted her and she found herself regularly tired after a blackout, or generally more tired than usual even without a blackout.

"Well, I'll go and get some of your things and give it to the nurse in case you're sleeping. You're in safe hands." Alex said. He was a great manager to her. Plump, self-satisfied and still bizarrely blonde in his fifties. "I'll come back tomorrow to take you home. Oh, before I forget," he placed the phone in her hands. "Your fathers and Quinn have been calling. They're worried about you. I didn't tell them anything."

After he left she threw the blanket off and stood in front of the window with the phone pressed to her ear. Her dad picked up in two rings. There was a sigh of relief on their end when she spoke. She left out the part of her being in hospital and explained that she wasn't feeling too well—not a lie—and that the interview had been rescheduled for a later date. As they talked an easy conversation, she looked out into the city, she thought of Quinn. She has all these things she wanted to ask Quinn like what happened on the day of the carnival, did Quinn win her a teddy bear, what did they do afterwards. Why couldn't she be with Quinn tonight? She hated this distance. She didn't want to complain too much because it was part of their careers, and Quinn_ had _to do this. She didn't want Quinn to be angry or annoyed at her selfishness. Only one more month. Or two. Then it'll all be over and she will have Quinn all to herself again. She didn't like sharing. Especially sharing her girlfriend and the thought of Mark with his hands all over her and Quinn smiling her dazzling smiling—a smile reserved for Rachel—she wanted to punch him.

Half an hour later the conversation with her fathers ended and she ran to the bathroom wondering what she can do to stop the sweating. It broke out of nowhere and considering it was winter she should not be sweating this profusely. She changed her hospital gown twice while talking to her fathers. She took a quick cold, soap-less shower, but still the perspiration came bubbling up on her back and forehead, oily and viscous. She glanced at the time. Late already. She changed into another gown and called Quinn.

Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up.

"Finally. Rachel—"

"Hi, Quinn—"

"Rachel, where the hell—"

"I'm sorry to call so late—"

"Where have you—"

"I wasn't feeling too well tonight. Alex rescheduled the interview."

"What do you mean you're not feeling well? Why didn't you call me?"

Because I was lying unconscious. "It wasn't anything of importance."

Rachel had been led to believe by television, by movies, that the only up-side of an illness was that it brought people closer, that there would be an opening-up, an effortless understanding between them. From what she remembers and what she feels, she and Quinn have always been close, always been open and their habitual understanding had instead been replaced by bitterness, resentment and a rage on both their parts at what is happening. Talks that should be fond and comforting descend into bickering and recrimination. Just yesterday she was telling complete strangers some of her secrets, and now she can't even talk to the woman she loves most in the world. Something isn't right.

After a moment, Quinn spoke. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Why would you say that?"

"You're hesitating."

"I told you I wasn't feeling well today—"

"But _why_ weren't you feeling well? Is it your headaches? Are the medications not working? Rachel, I want to know."

Rachel had the urge to cry. One day, maybe even quite soon, she will hang up the phone and realize that that was her last conversation with Quinn, and the thought is so hard to conceive that she shoved it away violently, concentrating instead on herself: her headache, how tired she felt, how the pain throbbed in her temples.

"Rachel," Quinn whispered. It was sweet, like the way Quinn used to speak to her. She really wanted to cry now. "What's going on?"

She had always imagined that some sort of emotional mental equipment was meant to arrive, a kind of kit that would enable her to deal with the all the problems in a relationship. For instance, the memory loss is one thing. The heartache of not having someone you love by your side. The divorce. Now this. This horrible distance, the lack of communication. Quinn's fake boyfriend. Quinn faked it so well in public Rachel has trouble distinguishing whether it was _fake_. If she were only in possession of such an equipment, she would be just fine. She would be noble and selfless, wise and philosophical.

She contemplated in silence for a while and then she eventually said, "It was my headache—" Quinn's quiet. Rachel knows she's listening intently. When she opened her mouth to speak again, there was shuffling on Quinn's end, the opening of a door and she heard Mark say, Hey Quinn, are you coming to bed?

"Mark, get out, I'm talking on the phone." His reply was, Oh okay, well, good night.

_Good _night. She snapped.

"Rachel?"

Rachel made a noise that sounded like, "My headache's fine."

There was silence again. Her head began to blur. A noise like static. She lay in the bed with a hollow pain in the pit of her stomach. She was going to cry, she could feel the tears.

"Nothing's going on, Rachel. I've told you this," Quinn said. "I don't want to fight about this anymore."

"I'm tired. I'm—"

"Rachel, please—"

"I really want to sleep."

Mark had something feline about him: eyebrows fine, mouth pouty in a self-conscious way, lips a shade too dark and full. Gratifyingly his hair was terrible, short at the back and sides, but with an awful little quiff at the front. Whatever gel he always used made it looked pert and fluffy, like a little hat. Clearly he knew he was good looking judging by the way he always carried himself and he was nice and kind and generous and he _wasn't_ Rachel—something she always thought Quinn might appreciate.

Quinn's voice was steady, "I don't know how many times we have to fight about this."

"We're not fighting about this."

"You know I love you."

It was the first time Quinn has said it to her in months. She knew it wasn't planned judging by the silence that followed. Silence. That's what their relationship has become. She should say it back, it was on the tip of her tongue. She didn't want to fight but it was hard to back down. The Valium altered her moods, often times it heightened it. It was not designed to go hand in hand with stress. She was aware of a pattern and it was completely unreasonable on her part—

"Sometimes I find it hard to believe that." There's that silence again, just long enough for her to visibly wither.

"If I didn't love you I wouldn't have spoken to you about this. I would've just let you find out from the news and paparazzi. This isn't even real."

"You look so happy with him and when you're with me—"

"That's the worst assumption you've ever come up with and you've come up with a lot of stupid ones."

Rachel was offended now. "I want this to end, Quinn." It was the last refuge her brain could come up with.

"What?"

"You and Mark. I want it to end."

"You can't ask me to do that."

"Why not? We're dating aren't we? You're supposed to be here with me, not him."

"This isn't real, Rachel!" Quinn laughed, an unpleasant snigger. "Get it through your head. It's not real, okay? This will all be over in a month. Thirty days. We've lasted this long we can do it for another thirty days."

"I want you here with me."

"If you're going to continue to be selfish I don't want to talk to you—"

"Oh, so when you don't want to talk we shouldn't talk. But when I want to sleep—"

"Fine. Go to sleep."

Rachel gulped. For the first time in a while she felt the fear that was rooted in her stomach, that was always there but rarely noticed, that was beginning to rise into her throat. You sensed it first at edginess, then the vague onset of panic not yet concrete. If she hung up now, would this be her last conversation with Quinn?

"Rachel?" Quinn said very quietly, almost afraid that she had hung up.

"I'm here."

"I don't want to go to sleep angry."

They listened to each other's breathing. Rachel was thinking about the memory at the carnival and she cried. Not loud enough for Quinn to hear but Quinn could probably still hear her sniffing. And then two strangled sobs emerged, unexpectedly, from deep in her throat. She cried a little more for maybe thirty seconds. She couldn't feel her body. She wanted to melt into liquid, flow down to the floor and disappear into the earth.

Mostly though, she hoped that it was just a bad patch. Maybe a break was what they needed. But she couldn't sense the scale of catastrophe that had loomed in their tiny lives. Her measuring devices were blunt. Was this issue bigger than the memory loss? Bigger than the divorce? Living through each day seemed such an enormous effort; it was all she could do merely to keep her own balance.

Finally, not being able to handle the silence any longer she said, "I miss you."

Quinn sucked in a breath. Rachel heard it whistle between her teeth. "I miss you, too."

"I'm sorry—"

"Rach, don't."

"I hate this situation—"

"I know. I do, too."

She faltered for a moment, caught her breath. She wanted to tell Quinn everything, but she was having difficulty conjuring the words and putting it into a coherent sentence. A part of her reasoned that she shouldn't bother Quinn with this. It was just a headache—and three blackouts—the medication was stabilizing her health. It really wasn't that bad.

"I need you, Quinn."

"Baby—"

Her face crumpled inwards and her breath became broken and jagged, and as she started to cry again she told Quinn, "I love you so much."

**•••**

**January 18th, 2017**

As Rachel sat in the cab on her way to the _Good Morning America_ studio for her live interview, her thoughts kept returning to the previous days. The day after she was hospitalized a medic team took her blood pressure and blood tests. The doctor called a physician, who called a specialist and within days she had undergone a battery of further tests. She had to show up with her body to whatever test it was that the doctor thought might contribute a puzzle piece to his diagnosis. Blood tests, x-rays, CT-scans, MRIs, Glasgow Coma Scales. Her body was no longer under her control. One doctor turned into four, and so there always seemed to be someone to answer to. They had her cornered. She couldn't escape them even if she wanted to.

The cab seemed to stop at every possible traffic light. Her palms were sweaty. She was feeling nervous and anxious and yet she couldn't attribute these feelings to impatiently waiting for a doctor to call her with the test results—he had specifically told her it would take a couple of days. She realized that she felt anxious because she hadn't spoken to Quinn in a week, besides the occasional text messages and the missed calls Rachel gives her. Quinn never replied to any of them. She had no idea what Quinn was up to—well, that's a lie. Rachel has been keeping tabs on her, Googling her name every day and reading new online articles detailing Quinn's whereabouts with Mark. They stopped for gas on Crescent Heights Boulevard; Quinn has been seen leaving Mark's apartment; they were seen holding hands outside the cinemas; they sat cozily next to one another at a meet-and-greet in the mall. Everything was _Quinn and Mark_ and she wanted to explode. She felt pinned to the tight strap, everything seemed to be closing in on her; the faux-suede roof was barely tall enough for the loose knot of thick hair that was held on top of her head by a chopstick. She turned her head to the right to see the cab coming to a stop outside of Times Square studios, she quickly paid the driver and was relieved with excitement to get away from the anxious feeling of being trapped.

While she was walking into the studio she was aware that George Clooney had passed her. She was sure he said hello, but it was too late to reply. She mentally cursed herself for being so distracted. One of the crew escorted her into her dressing room and she walked around the desk to look into the mirror.

There was a sharp knock on her dressing room door. "Good morning, Rachel. Make-up is ready for you."

"Be right there."

She walked out of her dressing room and another crew member showed her the way leading to the make-up trailer. The make-up artist gave her a hug with a guttural laugh. "Rachel Berry, I'm Anne Ross. I'm a big fan of yours."

"Thank you so much."

"Your show is amazing. I've seen it four times."

"Is that why it's been sold out lately? You've been buying all the tickets."

Anne laughed and began removing Rachel's previous make-up before she began her work re-concealing her face—she made Rachel's skin color more even, her eyes bigger, lips fuller. Another artist began working on her hair. She couldn't stop staring at her reflected image. Until now, it had never occurred to her that make-up was like the mask of a character. It showcased this young and exciting woman who had no fear of what she was going through in her personal life. But there was a glint in her eyes underneath the thick eyeliner that reminded her that she was scared.

In the mirror she saw Alex walking up to her and she turned to face him. "You'll be on next. Good luck out there. I know this is a huge step on the pedestal, just relax. You're going to be great," he smiled reassuringly. "There'll be no questions regarding Quinn. And if you want you can talk about your memory lost. I've specifically told them to not harass you."

"Well, hello there. I'm a big fan of yours. What a delight to finally meet you." The door swung open and Robin Roberts, one of the anchors, greeted her, practically singing those words. She was genuinely excited to meet Rachel and her happy demeanor was contagious.

Rachel shook her hand and smiled an involuntary smile and realized that she hadn't really smiled in a while, that Robin's sparkly nature was in stark contrast to her dullness. "I've been a huge fan of yours since I was a toddler."

"Oh, now you're making me feel old." As she finished, she pulled Rachel to her feet and hugged her. "I've been very excited about this, by the way. I have so many questions I want to ask you."

She felt strange all of a sudden: exposed. She has been recognized by fans, paparazzi have taken photos of her whenever possible, but being praised by a highly respected personnel from an internationally recognized television show was something extremely daunting and thrilling. She really didn't know what to say and in the silence that followed, Robin must have noticed her startled expression.

"Rachel, we're extremely excited to meet you. You're going to be great."

Robin led her to the immense set, taking her hand and squeezing it. She could hear the claps and cheers from outside in Times Square when Robin resumed her position in front of the camera, the crew were running around frantically getting everything in order, some were patting her shoulder hastily as they passed. She heard George Stephanopoulos doing the warm-up and getting a few laughs from the audience, until suddenly he's introducing her: A big hand please for our next guest, Rachel Berry.

A clip of her in the play showed on the screen, her voice thumping through the speakers. Her big break on live national television and she was dizzy with excitement and the onset of actual dizziness. The gantry seemed impossibly high, far higher than the last time she was on set, and she wanted to lie down but in doing this twenty million people will finally recognize her and she wanted more than anything for Quinn to be here with her, to make her feel loved and that she deserved this new form of recognition. Instead she felt vacuous and frivolous, a girl from a small town who didn't belong. A girl who's girlfriend hadn't cared enough to wish her good luck.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Alex pushing her to step onto the set. She plastered a wide grin, waved at the audience, greeted Robin and George delightfully before taking her seat.

"Rachel," George began. "It's such a pleasure to meet you. Anne Frank has been a huge success, I've seen it twice—"

"Thank you so much," she intervened. "It's an honor to hear you say that."

"Did you have any idea how successful it was going to become?" He asked.

She took a deep breath, not letting her excitement be overshadowed by her fear. She mentally selected the appropriate pitch to her voice. "I had no idea. I remember opening night when Gary Nutkin told us every seat was filled. I was nervous just hearing it. I'm still unable to comprehend the success."

"How did you get this role?" Robin said.

"Gary called me one day and we had dinner. He told me about the role for Anne and I auditioned four times before being cast. I was sent the script and rehearsals started the very next day."

"You met Gary through _Avenue Q_, isn't that right?"

"Yes. It didn't guarantee me any complimentary passes, even though I had hopes that it would." She joked and everyone laughed.

Rachel had always had a fear of public scrutiny, a gut wrenching feeling that she was going to embarrass herself. Would she be smart enough? Would she have the perfect comeback to an interviewer's subtle jab? Would she be able to convey intelligence and yet be fun and flirty? And how was she going to answer anybody's questions if her answer couldn't be truthful? Truthful answers to those questions that would kill both hers and Quinn's careers in an instant. I'm in love with Quinn. She is my girlfriend. I hate the fact that her publicist is suggesting she absorb herself into this fake relationship with Mark Morley.

"Are there any similarities between yourself and Anne?" Robin asked with a slightly incredulous tone.

"She's a little girl at heart, she has a lot of spirit and hope. She saw the best in humanity even when humanity was at its worst. I believe I'm a lot more realistic. Maybe when I was in high school I would classify myself in that role. I'm very talkative and curious just as she is, but over the years and following my accident, I've become more realistic towards life."

Both anchors nodded their heads repeatedly, but the movements were so small it was almost imperceptible. If she hadn't been looking directly at them, she wouldn't have seen it. She found herself breathlessly waiting for the next question.

"I wanted to ask you some questions involving the accident," George said. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I know that it's a very personal topic—"

"I honestly don't mind talking about," she assured. "I think it'll inspire people who've been through something similar and feel as though all hope is lost."

"It's an extremely courageous story," Robin added, smiling sweetly. "You must have been frightened waking up and not having any memories of the last five years?"

The mood in the room was suddenly quiet and not jovial, so she took out her pleasant, easy-going attitude to lighten the mood. "It was quite a shock, yeah. I think anyone would be shocked to go from sixteen to twenty-two in a day. But I had a lot of great support from my friends and family, and Quinn. Quinn's been amazing through all this, I wouldn't have been able to do it without her."

Rachel recognized the uneasy, quick glances the two hosts gave each other at the mention of Quinn's name. At that moment, she would've done anything to run from the audience, out of the studio with its square buildings and its one-way windows. She would go home and pack her suitcase and catch a cab to the airport, get on a plane and go back to Lima. She'd start this whole thing over; start her whole life over. She'd graduate from McKinley and go to Brown or Yale to study teaching, something to do with music, maybe a songwriter. She'd marry Quinn and they'd reside in the suburbs, she would live in this blissful ignorance with Quinn, because maybe for some reason the accident wouldn't have happened if she'd chosen a different career. There'd be no paparazzi following them, they could eat in a local diner without being snapped with food in their mouths. They wouldn't have to hide their relationship or their love for one another.

"Have you remembered anything from the past five years?" George said.

"I've remembered bits and pieces. But it's come to the point I've accepted that all my memories aren't going to return and I—"

And then it happened again—except it started in her hand, a tingle, something that it had never done before. She started to lift it but she was forced to stop when her head pounded again, harder, almost as if she had been hit in the head with a hammer. She closed her eyes, then squeezed her eyelids shut.

"Rachel?" Robin's voice was lace with worry.

Her hand stopped tingling and it began to go numb, a sensation as though her nerves were suddenly severed somewhere on her lower arm. Her wrist locked as a shooting pain rocked her head and flowed down her neck and into every cell of her body, like a tidal wave, crushing and wasting everything in its path.

"Are you okay?"

Rachel kept her eyes closed, wanting to finally let go. She heard George say nervously, We'll be right back after these advertisements, and there was a hand on her arm shaking her back to consciousness. She blinked rapidly, her head continued to feel fluttery.

"Rachel?" It was clear by the look on Robin's face that what she was seeing wasn't normal. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Alex helped her to her dressing room, handed her a bottle of water which she gulped down instantly. She didn't know why, but watching Alex speak to Robin, George and the producer in the far end of the room made her think of living in another world, an unrealistic world where actors, actresses, presenters and anyone in the industry were happy with their careers and had never had to deal with any type of illness, that God made their fame simple and nourished them with million dollar contracts, mansions and sports cars, their houses were raining with money, and they taught their children that they could grow up to pursue a career knowing that the amount of money they made was of far more importance than their accomplishments. It made her sick and she scrambled for her tablets.

Quinn's name was blinking at her on the phone and she answered without thought. Quinn was the first to speak. "Rachel, I saw you on TV. What happened? You were so pale and I thought you were going to faint."

Quinn's voice tingled up her spine, and despite her anger, even in the mere anticipation she felt she'd been descended upon by the doves of absolute peace. "I'm okay."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because I am." She snapped without meaning to and the four other participants in the room turned to look at her wearily. Sorry, she mouthed.

"Rach, what's wrong?"

Rachel could think of a million things that are wrong. You didn't call to wish me good luck. You haven't called in the past week. When you reply to my text it's usually five words or less. I have a constant present headache I can't seem to manage. I'm extremely agitated everyday waiting for the test results. I can't tell you anything anymore. You're always so distant. I hate what this is doing to us. I hate that you're always with _him_. I need you. I miss you. I love you. I feel like you don't care.

Quinn's denseness and inability to take into account her feelings over the past week didn't hurt her; rather it clarified her own feelings towards Quinn. This has been the closest she's ever come to feeling actual _hate_ for her girlfriend. "Nothing's wrong. I have to get back—"

"Rach, I'm sorry I haven't been as attentive and I've missed your calls. It's been so busy—"

"And you're tired. You're always tired. You're always with Mark. Why are you always at his apartment?"

"It doesn't mean anything—"

"Of course it doesn't! Now it doesn't but maybe in a week when you've developed a deeper connection—"

"You're being absolutely ridiculous. I love you."

Seven hundred miles of wireless signals separating them and yet Quinn's voice is right there in her ear, as if she could merely close her eyes and Quinn would lean towards her and kiss her. During that moment there was no more sound, and there was nothing but infinite space around her. She was aware of her heart, as frantic as any voodoo drum.

Alex's voice cut into her infinite space. "Rachel, we need to talk."

"Quinn, I have to go."

"I'll call you. I promise."

"Good bye." She didn't have the heart to say _it_, good bye was the best she could manage in her current state.

She stood as Robin and George hugged and waved good bye to her. The producer thanked her for being a part of their show and wished to see her back again. She turned back to Alex when the door closed and he said,

"I told them you haven't been feeling quite well, and they understood—"

"So I'm not going to finish the rest of my interview?"

"You almost fainted, Rachel. Have you heard from the doctors?" She shook her head. He continued, "Maybe you should call them."

"Are they upset with me?"

"The doctors?"

"No, Robin and George."

"Of course not," he said sympathetically. "Illnesses are common and it's unpredictable."

"Not my type of illness."

"Rach, maybe it's best you rest for the next few weeks until you're certain of what's happening with your health. Take a couple of weeks off work. I'll talk to Gary and explain it to him myself. What's important is that you really need to rest. If this is all due to stress, its best you take a mini holiday."

**•••**

**January 25th, 2017**

Rachel looked at her watch and with time to kill flicked on the television. On a nationwide quest to find America's Most Talented Pet, Mark Morley was standing on an ocean sea-front, introducing the viewers to a dog who could play the drums, and then the camera panned to Quinn laughing on the side, the caption read: Quinn Fabray, Mark Morley's _girlfriend_. Mark was laughing, bubbling and fizzing away and Rachel didn't find his image justly disturbing as she normally would. For a moment Rachel contemplated calling Quinn, making up an excuse to cancel their dinner and going back to bed. Because, really, what was the point?

It wasn't just the effervescing fake boyfriend. The fact was Rachel didn't get along well with Quinn these days. More often than not Quinn would cancel their meetings at the last minute, citing "work complications" and an added, "I promise I'll make it up to you". When they did speak on the phone, Quinn seemed distracted, uncomfortable. They spoke to each other in strange, strangulated voices, and had lost the knack of making each other laugh, jeering at each other instead in a spiteful, mocking tone. Their relationship was like a wilted bunch of flowers that she insisted on topping up with water. Why not let it die instead? It was unrealistic to expect a relationship as complicated as theirs to last forever, their careers were keeping them apart.

But from the moment she saw Quinn waiting for her across the road, she sensed a love so large she could travel vast distances and never once step outside it. When she was with Quinn everything slowed down. She became suffused with an awareness of her, she became fascinated with every curve of muscle on Quinn's body, engrossed by her smile and the way her eyes light up, hypnotized by the pounding of Quinn's heart against her hand.

She knew nothing but the buildings and the paparazzi: two dimensional things. Then Quinn brought her in for a hug and she began to drown in a three-dimensional world.

Quinn kissed her cheek, a short kiss, maybe three seconds. They pulled away and she heard a faint murmur leave Quinn's lips; even so close the sound was almost lost in the distance from Quinn's mouth to her ears. But it was there, distinct and clear, as if the whole world for that instant was that soft moan, that murmur of desire and melting—the murmur of all possibilities. She felt it in her spine, where it continued to echo and buzz.

She watched Quinn's face brighten and felt a swell of hope and affection for the evening. "You look great." Quinn said, eyeing her outfit, no doubt mentally praising Rachel's new wardrobe choice.

Rachel opened her mouth only to be interrupted by Quinn's cell phone. She fished it out of her bag and Rachel grunted seeing Mark's name. Quinn must have noticed because she switched it off and slipped it into her coat pocket. "So, what was I saying?" Quinn said casually. "Oh yeah, you look beautiful."

"So do you." Rachel smiled and embraced her, pressing her cheek close to Quinn's.

Quinn's hands were on her back. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

"Is this a new wardrobe?" Quinn took her hands and held them out to the side, examining her new dress. "You went shopping without me?"

"You know how much I despise shopping with you. You have an opinion on everything."

"That's the whole point of shopping. To get opinions and what looks best on you."

"Not when your opinions are always ridiculing my choices."

They began to walk through the crowds towards the restaurant, Rachel taking Quinn's arm then holding the material of her coat between finger and thumb, rubbing at the strange nap of the fabric. "What is this, by the way? Velvet? Velour?"

"Moleskin."

"If I recall correctly, Sue Sylvester had track suits in that material."

"Don't remind me of those days."

"You must have nightmares—"

"All the time."

Rachel laughed and took her hand and soon they were in the restaurant. Entrance was by way of a vast, theatrical staircase that seemed miraculously suspended above the main room and formed a permanent distraction to the diners below, who spent much of the evening assessing the beauty or fame of the new arrivals. A sleek handsome man in absurd naval epaulettes told them their table would be ten minutes so they pushed their way to the cocktail lounge where another faux naval man was busy juggling bottles.

"What do you want, Rach?"

"Um, water?"

Quinn tutted. "You're not at home. Have a proper drink. Two martinis, very dry with a twist." Rachel made to speak, but Quinn held up an autocratic finger. "Trust me. They taste amazing."

Obediently, Rachel ummed and awwed at the bartender's performance, Quinn commentating throughout. "The trick is to get everything really, really cold before you start. Iced water in the glass, gin in the freezer."

"How do you know all this?"

She hesitated for a second. "Mark taught me." They touched glasses, silently toasting, Rachel feeling a vague sense that the evening was slipping away and hope would be lost any minute now.

Rachel raised the martini to her lips. "I've never had one of these before." The first taste was delicious, icy and immediately intoxicating, and she tried not to spill it as she shuddered. She was about to thank her when Quinn placed her glass in Rachel's hand, a good half of it already gone.

"I need to use the bathroom."

"Okay." She said, but Quinn was already gone, and Rachel stood alone with two drinks in her hand, attempting to exude an aura of confidence and glamour so as not to look like a waitress. This was part of Quinn's world now—drinks, after parties, _martinis_. She was living the life of the glitz and glamour of Hollywood.

The lights in the room blurred, her head felt light and a wave of panic passed through her body—a hot, rolling rush of panic beginning in her stomach and ending with her head. Oh no, not now, please not now. She tried to trick her brain into thinking that she was asleep so that she could make it end differently and take away the nervous sick feeling.

She asked the bartender for a glass of water and downed it with two Valium tablets. Her heart dropped knowing she only had two left to last her for the next few days. It was entirely different what's been happening lately. She would be on the couch watching television, something beautiful and interesting, and then she'd feel it—bang! just like that—the serene embrace of her headache, the feathered state of mindlessness. She would be staring at the television and the images blurred to abstract pattern, leaving room for memory to enter. If she has enough Valium, the world gives her comfort. If there's not enough it makes her sad. Comfort is beauty muted by Valium. Sadness is beauty drained by lack of it.

Suddenly a tall woman stood over her in a leopard-skin corset, stocking and suspenders, her appearance so sudden and startling that Rachel gave a little yelp as her martini sloshed over her wrist.

The woman was extraordinarily beautiful, voluptuous and barely dressed. "Would you like anything?" She asked, smiling through powdery foundation and adjusting with one finger the black velvet choker around her neck.

"Oh no, I'm good, thanks." She said, but the woman had already redirected her smile over Rachel's shoulder, fluttering the sticky black lace of her eyelashes.

"Would you like anything?" She gave Quinn an extra wide aphrodisiac smile.

Rachel noticed Quinn's flicker of self-satisfactory smile. "No, thanks. I'm good."

"You have drool on your moleskin."

"What?"

"You looked like you wanted to kiss her or something."

"Rachel, don't be so ridiculous." Quinn said that word a lot recently. _Ridiculous_. Rachel thought Quinn might as well call her by that name. It was all Quinn thought of her.

"Why's she dress like a prostitute?"

"I don't know, Rach, maybe her wholly black tights are in the wash." She took her martini and drained it. "Post-feminism, isn't it?"

Rachel looked skeptical. "Oh, is that what we're calling it now?"

Quinn's eyes lingered towards the Voluptuous Prostitute Girl and Rachel tried to see which body part her eyes were laid on. "You could look like that if you wanted."

"No one misses quite a point like you, Quinn."

"What I mean is, it's about choice. It's empowering."

"What is that supposed to—"

"If she chooses to wear the outfit, she can wear the outfit."

"But if she refused she would be fired."

Quinn rolled her eyes and gave a patronizing laugh. Rachel was reminded just how annoying and preachy Quinn could be. "And so would the waiters. Maybe she likes wearing it, maybe it's fun, maybe she feels sexy in it. That is feminism, isn't it?"

"Well, it's not the _dictionary _definition..." Rachel had to remind herself that she's in love with Quinn, and that this evening should not be ruined just because they were having issues in their relationship. They stood on the edge of the long pointless argument that she felt she could win, but which would leave the evening in tatters. Instead, she hid her face behind her drink, her teeth biting the glass, and counted slowly before saying, "Let's change the subject."

But Quinn wasn't listening, gazing over her shoulder instead as a waiter beckoned them over. "Come on, I got us a table."

They settled into the purple velvet booth and scrutinized the menus in silent. Rachel had been expecting something fancy and French, but this was basically expensive cafeteria food: fishcakes, pies, burgers, and she recognized this restaurant as the kind that would serve ketchup on a silver salver. "It's Modern American." Quinn explained patiently, as if paying all that money for sausage and mash potatoes was very Modern, very American.

"I'm going to have oysters," Quinn said. "The natives, I think. And the steak for the main course."

"Are they friendly?" Rachel said weakly.

"_What_?"

"The natives—are they friendly?" She persevered and thought, What the hell am I saying?

Uncomprehending, Quinn frowned and returned to the menu. "No, they're just sweeter, pearly and sweet, finer than rock oysters, more delicate."

"You're very knowledgeable all of a sudden."

"I eat out most days now. As a matter of fact, one of Mark's friend's in the journalism industry asked if I wanted to review for one of the Sunday newspapers—"

"Restaurants?"

"Cocktail bars. Weekly column."

"And you'd write it yourself?"

"Yeah, of course."

"What is there to say about cocktails? Wouldn't you want to be a well-known journalist and not be known for writing a cocktail column?"

"You'd be surprised. Cocktails are sort of a retro glamour thing now. In fact—" She put her mouth to the empty martini glass. "—I'm something of a mixologist myself."

"Misogynist?"

"Mix_ol_ogist."

"I'm sorry, I thought you said 'misogynist'."

"Ask me how to make a cocktail, any cocktail you like."

She pressed her chin with her finger. "Okay, um... lager top!"

"I'm serious, Rach. It's a real skill."

"Did Mark teach you that? How is the King of Comedy?"

Quinn merely shrugged. "He's doing alright. You need to stop being so jealous. Nothing's going on."

Her tone was so belligerent and sour that Rachel visibly winced, and Quinn seemed a little taken aback too, hiding her face in the wine list. "What do you want, red or white wine? I'm going to have another martini." Quinn ordered and then was off to the bathroom again.

The minutes stretched. She read the wine label then read it again and stared into space and wondered at what point had Quinn become such a, such a... mixologist? Is that even a real word? And she wondered why she herself was sounding so spiky, mean and joyless? She didn't care about Mark, not really, not that much, so why did she sound so priggish and judgmental They hadn't seen each other in weeks. Usually in this circumstance they fell into each other's arms and everything was right again. Tonight had the complete opposite effect. Perhaps it was opposite day? She resolved to relax and enjoy herself. This was Quinn after all, her best friend whom she loved.

Quinn's oysters arrived along with Rachel's tofu fish. The oysters lay glossy and alien on their bed of melting ice. Rachel passed the time by drinking heavily, with the fixed smile of someone who's been left alone and really doesn't mind at all. She shouldn't have been drinking, but it was like alcohol boiled the Valium and it lubricated her head and seeped into her bloodstream leaving her floating into the clouds. Finally, she saw Quinn walking across the restaurant a little unsteadily.

"I thought you'd fallen in!"

"Sorry," she said, nothing more. She began eating her oysters. "So how's the play going?"

"I've taken a few weeks off."

"Why?"

"I—" This was her chance. She has had quite a lot to drink, the alcohol would help get her through this. "Alex suggested it. I just need some time off."

"Are you not feeling well?"

"Not at all. Never been better." It was a lie which should've been the truth. It would've been the truth if not for her debilitating fear, and she was certain that fear would fade in time once the doctors have finally reached a conclusion regarding her health and consulted her.

It was hard to express her doubts, her panics, to Quinn. They were trying to be nice to each other even though there was a lot of damage on her behalf. She figured it was her duty to stay positive about the changes in their lives. She felt talking about how she felt and what she was going through would be unfair to Quinn. She had already put her through enough at the time of the accident, losing her memories devastated Quinn to breaking point, she was afraid of what this would do to their relationship. And Quinn's career had skyrocketed to the stars, literally. There was always something about her in the entertainment sections of newspapers and on television, whether it be in her personal life, her fashion sense, or simply out in public. Quinn was the new _it_ girl. She has received notable critical praise for her performance in _Mistress of Rome_, with several magazines calling her, 'the most talented young actress in America'.

"What are your plans for the next few weeks?" Rachel asked while she examined her thick paled fries. It had been machine cut into perfect oblongs and were stacked up like building blocks.

"I have a photo-shoot with _L'Oréal _tomorrow and Mark and I have a photo-shoot for _Abercrombie & Fitch_ on Wednesday." Quinn necked another oyster. "I really can't wait until all this is over."

"You're not enjoying it?"

"Of course, but—I mean, I miss you and..." She trailed off, having a hard time finishing the sentence.

Rachel decided to let it pass. "You should keep doing it."

"I will. I just—this distance, it's—it's weird right?"

"I don't know what you mean by that."

Quinn saw right through her and raised her brow. "You know what I mean, Rach. You're mad a lot of the time and jealous—"

"I'm not—" She quickly said, a little too loud and softened her tone. "I'm not."

"I'm tired of fighting about this all the time."

Rachel's only thought consisted off: Why don't you quit now and be with me. She said, "If you enjoy being with him then I suggest you be with him. You shouldn't stop seeing him for me. Besides, he seems very keen on you."

Quinn eyed her cautiously. She immediately knew she had said the wrong thing, it was snippy and unnecessary. At this point in their relationship, she knew Quinn well enough to read her sigh as frustration, her hitched breath as annoyance and the flicker in her eyes as irritation. Her breathing stopped for a minute, then started again, this time shallower. Rachel knew Quinn too well. Sometimes she wished she didn't and she could ignore all these signs and feign nonchalance.

"Maybe I will." Quinn said mostly to herself. "Continue this with Mark."

This was Quinn's defensive stance. Quinn was trying to hurt her with the most heart breaking words of all. Rachel's mouth went dry, and her heart was pounding. She felt weak, her legs ached, there's a strange pain on her side. She could feel Quinn staring at her, ten, twenty, thirty seconds, and all this time she doesn't look back.

Instead, she swallowed raw potato and said, "Whatever makes you happy."

And so the pleasure wore on without another word. Rachel felt traitorous, Quinn probably felt the same way. This evening was supposed to be her chance to confide in Quinn about the mess that it their relationship, her fear that is her health and her confusion about what to do next. But they couldn't talk to one another. Not now.

"How's your steak?" Rachel asked, eventually. Quinn seemed to have lost her appetite, dissecting the blood red meat without actually eating it.

"Sensational. How's the tofu fish?"

"Cold."

"Is it?" Quinn peered at her plate then shook her head sagely. "It's opaque, Rach. That's how it _should_ be cooked, so it just turns opaque."

"Quinn—" Her voice was hard and sharp. "—it's _opaque_ because it's deep-frozen. The tofu hasn't been defrosted."

"Is it?" She prodded the fake fish angrily with her fork. "Well, we'll send it back."

"It's fine. I'll just eat the fries."

"No, fuck it. Send it back! I'm not paying for fucking frozen food. We'll get you something else." Her tone was provoking. Once again, Quinn's anger was directed at someone who didn't deserve it. She waved a waiter over and Rachel watched as Quinn asserted herself, insisting that it wasn't good enough, it said fresh on the menu, she wanted it taken off the bill and a replacement main course provided free of charge. Rachel tried to insist she wasn't hungry anymore while Quinn insisted that she had to have a proper main course. There was no choice but to stare at the menu all over again, while the waiter and Quinn glared at her and all the time Quinn's own steak sat there, mauled but uneaten, until finally she settled, she got her free green salad, and they were alone again.

They sat in silence in the wreckage of the evening in front of two plates of unwanted food and she thought she might cry.

"Well, this is going great." Quinn said and tossed down her napkin. "Are you still getting headaches?"

Rachel wanted to go home. She would skip dessert, go home to her empty apartment and cuddle up in bed with the television on. "No. I'm fine." She scowled.

"What? What have I done?" Quinn replied indignantly, eyes snapping back to her.

She spoke levelly. "If you're not interested, don't ask."

"I am interested! I wouldn't ask if I wasn't. It's just..." She poured herself more wine. "I thought you were taking Flunaza—whatever tablets or something."

"I'm taking Valium now."

"What? Since when? _Valium_. That's addictive."

"Not if taken cautiously."

"Why haven't you told me?"

Rachel's mouth fell open. _Stay calm._ "You're never around, Quinn."

"This isn't fair and you know it. I'm working, I have a job. This isn't a holiday for me, I can't just take time off whenever I want to like you can—"

"Why? Your job is more recognized than mine? You're more acclaimed than I am? You have your face on magazines such as _Us Weekly_ praising this fake life that you're living?"

Quinn sighed, the glass of wine in her hand, then spoke flatly. "I'm not doing this with you again. I'm literally sick of it. How many times do I have to clarify that nothing is going on? Do you want me to wear a shirt that says exactly that, or something? Get over yourself, Rachel. Not everything I do has to revolve around you."

Rachel spat out the words. "Go fuck yourself, Quinn."

And now the glass of wine was spilled on Quinn's lap as Rachel shoved the table away and jumped to her feet, grabbing her bag, knocking over bottles, clattering plates as she clambered out of the booth, storming through that hateful, hateful place. All around her people were staring now but she didn't care, she just wanted to be out. Do not cry, you will not cry, she commanded herself, and glancing behind her she saw Quinn mopping furiously at her lap, broke into a run, and here was that Voluptuous Prostitute Girl striding down the stairs towards her on long legs and high heels, a grin splitting her scarlet mouth. Despite her vow, Rachel felt hot tears of humiliation prick her eyes, and suddenly she was falling onto the stairs, stumbling on those stupid, stupid high heels, and there was an audible gasp from the audience of diners behind her as she fell to her knees.

The Voluptuous Prostitute Girl was beside her, holding onto her elbow, with a look of maddening, genuine concern. "Are you alright there?"

"Yes, thank you, I'm fine—"

But Quinn had caught up with her, was helping her up. Finally she shook herself free from Quinn's grip. "Don't touch me, Quinn."

"Don't shout, calm down—"

"I will _not_ calm down—"

"Alright, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Whatever it is you're angry about, I'm sorry!"

Rachel turned to her on the stairs, eyes blazing. "What, you don't _know_?"

"No! Come back to the table, and you can tell me!" But Rachel was walking away, through the swing doors, pushing them closed behind her so that the metal edge cracked Quinn sharply on the knee. Quinn limped after her. "This is stupid, Rachel. We're both a bit drunk, that's all—"

"No, _you're_ drunk! You're always drunk! You're always at some party. You never call even when you promise that you will. You didn't even care enough to wish me luck for my interview. Did you know I literally haven't seen you in forty-four days and you've _been_ to New York in those forty-four days and you don't even come to see me! You talk about Mark in front of me like I'm supposed to accept the fact that he's got his hands all over you in every single photo, and maybe I would be okay with it, Quinn, this would've been so much easier if you had kept in touch with me and not the one-off text messages. Even when you talk to me you're always looking over your shoulder in case there's some better option—"

"That's not true!"

"It is true, Quinn! You're an actress, all this is done for publicity, you're not in demand as though you've invented Penicillin, so you _cannot_ be that busy. We were apart for months and you managed to keep in touch with me through emails and letters. I knew more about your life in those months than I do now and you're my girlfriend!"

They were amongst the crowd in the street in the fading winter light. "Let's go somewhere and talk about this." Quinn said. She flickered her eyes around and Rachel knew she was hoping the paparazzi hadn't caught them.

"I don't want to talk about it. I've had enough. I want to go home—"

"Rachel, please?"

"Quinn, just leave me alone, will you?"

"You're being hysterical. Come here." Quinn took her arm once again, idiotically, tried to hug her. Rachel pushed her away but Quinn held on. People were staring at them now, and she finally relented, allowing Quinn to pull her into a side street.

They were silent now, Quinn stepped away from her as Rachel wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. Finally, she spoke in a quiet voice. "Why are you being like this, Quinn?"

"Like what?" Quinn blinked as tiny droplets of tears spilled from her eyes.

"You know what."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"You're being completely disrespectful of my feelings."

Quinn snorted. She had the nerve to snort. "Now you're just being childish—"

"I'm not! You're always repeating that as though all I'm thinking about is myself—"

"Rachel, you have to understand—"

"Shut up, Quinn! You know what I'm tired of? I'm tired of you constantly implying I'm jealous and childish when I all I want to do it talk to you. _You're_ the one who's being distant, and I try not to call or text you too much because I don't want to _cramp your personal space_, as you've so neatly put it! I need you and you can't even see that!"

Quinn sniffed once, and looked down at her through smudged black eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being distant. There's a time difference from New York and wherever I am, and most of the time I don't want to wake you up. I know how much you appreciate your beauty sleep. But Rachel, I never stop thinking about you. Not for a second. I'd give it all up to be with you—"

"Then why don't you?"

"It's—I..."

"You don't want to, Quinn. You enjoy the parties, the free drinks, the attention—"

"Don't you think this is hard for me to pretend to be in love with someone else? I'm wrapped with guilt every single night. I'm always concerned what you're going to see in the magazines or hear on the news."

Rachel waited for Quinn to further elaborate, she counted sixty seconds in her head. When it was clear that had been the end of Quinn's speech, Rachel took two of Quinn's fingers and squeezed them in her palm. "Maybe... maybe this is it, then. Maybe it's just over."

"Over? What's over?"

"Us. You and me. There are things I needed to talk to you about, Quinn. About my health. If you're my girlfriend I should be able to talk to you but I can't, and if I can't talk to you, well, what's the point? Of us?"

"_What's the point_? The fucking point is to work at it, that's the fucking point. You can't just break up because it's hard."

_You left me when it was hard_. It was on the tip of her tongue and she bit into it to stop the words from tumbling out. "I'm going to go home."

"Rachel, come on. You're not serious, right?"

She shrugged. "Maybe we've grown out of each other."

Quinn wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then spoke. "You've grown out of me or I've grown out of you?"

"I think that you think I'm dreary. I think that you've lost interest in me."

"Rachel, I have _not_ lost interest in you."

"You always want to be somewhere else. Even when we're on the phone, you're just never interested anymore."

Rachel wondered whether there was something she could say to save the situation, a joke perhaps, but nothing occurred and she let go of Quinn's hand. They stared at each other for a long time, concern etched on Quinn's face. "I never meant to make you feel that way. You know that—I know things have been difficult. Just one more month—"

"You said that a month ago, Quinn. And it's not even that," she admitted. "It's _you_. You're different now."

"Just because I don't call you—"

"It's not that! I know what you're like and this isn't you. You're horrible like this, you're obnoxious and arrogant, Quinn. You were funny and kind, and interested in people. Now you're telling me to dress like a prostitute—"

Quinn sniggered angrily. "That was a joke. That's what we do. We joke."

"And it wasn't funny. It's rude and insulting like you'll find me more desirable if I dressed like—"

"Rachel, that's not—"

"You would never have spoken to a waiter as though you walked on water, as though you're better than him because he's paid minimum wage. You're just out of control, Quinn, with the parties and the alcohol—"

"Rach, I'm just having fun."

"And I don't do any of that which is why I think you've lost interest—"

"You know that's not true—"

"I honestly approved of this whole arrangement until you began to distant yourself. Do you know how much it hurts when our friends ask me where you are and I have no idea? They don't say it, but I can see it in their eyes. 'Rachel is Quinn's girlfriend, how can she not know where Quinn is or what she's doing right now?'"

Quinn sighed, she leaned against the wall, her hand running through her hair. For a moment, Rachel had a fleeting but perfectly clear memory of herself and Quinn engaging in a pillow fight and then eased Quinn's insecurities about their relationship. Quinn curled into her arms afterward and they fell asleep after Rachel asked her to Prom. Rachel quickly walked up to her and pulled Quinn's face to hers, their cheeks warm and wet against one another. Rachel spoke quickly and quietly in her ear. "Quinn, I love you so much. So, _so_ much, and I know I always will." Her lips touched Quinn's cheek. "But for now I _really_ don't like you. I'm sorry. I think we should stay away for a while."

She turned and, a little unsteadily, began to walk off down the pathway, occasionally glancing around for a cab. Quinn followed a little way behind her. "Rachel, you don't mean that. This is just another fight and after we've had time to cool down we're going to be okay, right?"

She successfully hailed a cab, and said, "I'll see you around, Quinn," before opening the door. She looked back to see Quinn standing alone and watching the cab weaving through the streets. She looked until she could no longer see Quinn.

Surprisingly, the tears didn't fall until she reached her apartment. She wiped at her eyes furiously, the tears didn't want to stop. She cried out in pain and then she just quietly cried as a means to console herself. Her gentle sobs screamed to say, It hurts, and a silent tear falling replied, I know, I know. Everything hurt. She wept and wept until she became aware that the excruciating pain began to escalate from her heart to her head and attacked her muscles and organs in its path. She reached for the Valium only to decide against it as there were only two tablets left. It was night time, and she had no plans for the next few days.

The lights around the room began to blur into one another. In the mirror located in the far end of her room, she saw two black dots that were her pupils until she couldn't see them anymore either. She felt herself floating away, fading into black. She knew was she was going to have another blackout, but she tried to hold on to her consciousness. She heard what sounded like a train roaring inches from her forehead. The pain coursed through her body like a lightning bolt, and in her last remaining moments of consciousness, she saw Quinn, so gratified to see her standing there. She knew she was hallucinating. But in less than a second a new world opened up to her and she is somewhere richer than any dream.

Quinn, is this your speech?

Yeah.

You're really going to say all these things?

What's wrong with it?

_My Bride's speech_

_After a whirlwind romance etc etc_

_How we met. At school but didn't like her at first. Thought she was annoying, selfish, talked too much, always hogging the limelight. Always angry about something. Terrible hair. Signed up for tumblr one day. Say something about not knowing it was her. Finally got to know her. Blah blah blah_

_Me being an idiot. Sometimes don't see what's right in front of my face (corny)._

_How to describe Rach. Her many qualities. Funny. Intelligence. Good dancer but a terrible cook. Taste in music is good, except show tunes. Always has something to talk about. Makes me laugh too much. Beautiful but doesn't always know it etc etc. Great with my mom, even gets along with my sister. Everyone loves her._

_College was hard. Talk about the distance._

_Getting married makes sense. Everyone told you so. Happier than ever been before._

_*Pause while guests cry about corniness. Santana will probably vomit somewhere. Remember to check around.* _

_Acknowledge this is the happiest day of my life. Thank caterers. Thank Hiram and Leroy for making me feel welcome. Thank everyone for being here. Thank mom and Frannie._

_Toast to my beautiful wife blah-di blah-di blah blah blah blah blah blah all that stuff._

Yeah, I'm going to say all that.

You're serious? No, I love you? We're meant for each other? I can't wait to start my future with such an amazing woman?

This basically says all that. I mean look, _happier than ever been before_. That basically sums up everything you just said. Obviously I'm not going to say, _blah blah_ and _etc etc_.

I really hope you're being sarcastic, Quinn.

I'm really not, baby. Read between the lines.

The last thing she remembered was the sound of her front door opening and closing, Quinn's voice called out to her from the living room and footsteps descend into the bedroom. And as she closed her eyes no longer able to hold on, the sound of Quinn's voice vibrated through her ears. _Rachel, are you asleep?_

**•••**

**January 26th, 2017**

The problem is, waking is insufferable.

Rachel woke up to a strange silence and shafts of light stabbing into the room from the corners of the blinds. The light carried millions of tiny dust particles, which she guessed were always there yet only now visible because of the soupy, thick air with its beams of light illuminating them. She was eerily calm when she awoke. She was aware that, coupled with the blackout, she had cried herself to sleep. Her eye sockets felt misshapen and water-logged, as though they could barely keep her sore, dry eyes in her head. The heaviness in her head, with its headache and sinus pressure remained. Usually when she awoke there would be a lightness to her body like everything inside of her was weightless—quiet, floating. Today, the hideous pain continued without abatement.

Quinn was beside her, crumpled as far away as she could on her side of the bed. She was starting to breathe shallowly and Rachel knew that soon she'd wake and the day's misery would begin. Quinn, for the first time in a long time, appeared mysterious, a stranger. She wanted Quinn to return to her, she didn't want her to be this despairing and vulnerable person she had revealed herself to be. She loved Quinn's straightforwardness, her self-confidence and poise. Her ambition, which is ferocious and unapologetic, her lack of sentimentality; she is as hard, bright and desirable as a diamond.

She missed the electricity between them, and how alive they made each other feel. She missed the way—as she would drift off to sleep—Quinn would trace her fingers all over her body, the lightest of grazes, in gentle repetitive motions, a kind of hypnosis of the skin. It occurred to her that her body was empty like a black and white page in a coloring book, and Quinn's fingers were brushstrokes, or the flaking of crayons, and that each time Quinn continued her tracing she became complete.

The mattress began to stiff. Rachel continued to lie on her side facing the window. She felt Quinn shuffling behind her and soon their feet were touching. "Rach?"

Rachel turned to look at her. Quinn lay on her back, facing the ceiling. The sheet was pulled to her chest. "I'm going to take a shower."

Quinn raised up on one elbow. "Rach, we need to talk."

"Why are you here?"

"I cancelled all my appearances and meetings. I want to be with you."

"You cancelled because we're having problems not because you want to be with me." Rachel said, almost losing her resolve.

She watched Quinn's thoughts pass across her face. An expression rose that Rachel had recognized many times, it was always her that inspired it, after all: _rage_. Quinn was sitting up now. "Rachel, I'm trying."

This was love, her brain reasoned; this was how it went between two people: silences, sulks, mysteries. It could not always be love in the afternoon and passion at night, gifts given, notes written, meals fed to each other, comfortable silences, lingering kisses. There had to be the pulling of ugly faces and sudden mutual waves of distaste, annoyance passed back and forth. She hoped, painfully, that this tension might be the normal run of a long-lasting love.

Her own guilt threatened to overwhelm her if she dwelt for too long on what had happened yesterday. Her head knew all this wasn't entirely Quinn's fault, but in her heart beat a sickening anger that wanted to blame Quinn for it all. What made it even worse was that she didn't know _why_. Her nerves were so tense that only Valium could soothe them.

They watched each other. No longer allies, but not yet sure what else they might become. "Fine," Rachel mumbled. "We'll talk."

She went to brush her teeth and came out to find Quinn dressed in new clothes and making coffee. The last remaining Valium tablets did nothing to soothe her but rather made her feel completely dizzy. Guilt, hurt, jealousy filled her stomach with a bitter bile that threatened to rise. Distracted by her sudden nausea, she hadn't realized that Quinn had been crying. When she saw Rachel, she pulled her face together. Streaked but still elegant. She had never seen Quinn's cheeks as tear-stained, or those green eyes reddened by salt as she has at this moment. It put Rachel over the edge along which she had been nervously wavering.

Quinn slid a mug of coffee towards her and they sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. Quinn's stony reticence, combined with her dark features and raw nerves, and the fact that Rachel has no idea what she was thinking, filled her with anxiety.

Finally, to break the long silence, she said, "I'm sorry."

Quinn didn't respond. She sipped her coffee, and Rachel wondered whether Quinn even recognized her. She wanted to hear Quinn's calm voice, feel her reassuring touch—but they had enough problems to deal with, and Quinn telling her that everything was hunky-dory was not an option.

"Quinn, I'm really sorry." She added firmly.

Quinn's mouth thinned. "You're not."

Taken by surprise, she hesitated, then said, "I'm trying to apologize."

They continued to stare at one another. Rachel took in the uncompromising lines of Quinn's face, shadowed by darkness, and the powerful gripping of her hand on the coffee mug. "Your apology means nothing when you don't mean it."

Right; because Quinn knows me _so well_ to know when an apology means nothing. She now felt indignation warred with a sharp, unexpected jab of exasperation. Rachel studied her tense face a moment longer, then said abruptly, "You don't know what I've been through."

Shaken by her animosity and unable to control her feelings any longer, Quinn practically yelled, "You won't tell me anything!" She curled her fingers tighter around the mug. Rachel saw nothing but blackness in Quinn's eyes, her mouth pulled in a tight line. "You think I don't know what's going on, Rachel? I know that you're sick, I know you've got some issues with your health. But how the hell am I supposed to be there for you when you're constantly insisting that you're fine? I'm not a fucking mind reader."

Rachel flinched from the anger in her voice, hurt and offended by her crudity. It was all she could do not to snap back at her—and she would've had she not sensed Quinn's anger, her need to hurt, was directed at herself rather than Rachel.

Quinn stared at her looking as if she might say something more. She opened her mouth but clamped her lips closed. Rachel didn't back down from her chilly glare, she knew her tricks by now, the way Quinn worked her whole intimidation business.

The distance between them was immeasurable. There was little else for her to say; protesting the statement would mean she was determined to punish herself for being human rather than omnipotent.

After a lengthy silence, Rachel said, "I didn't want to bother—"

"Don't you dare give me that excuse," Quinn pushed the mug out of reach so as to not be tempted to throw it. "You think that all this distance is _my _fault. _You_ pulled away first. From the very first moment you were in the fucking hospital—"

"How did you—"

"What, am I illiterate? Do I not know how to turn on the TV or flip through a newspaper?"

Even hearing Quinn say the words left her cold with fear and dread. Quinn had known all along? How did the paparazzi get a hold of it? She reached over for Quinn's arm but she snatched it away. That one act sent a spurt of absolute pain to her heart and an unwelcome discomfort.

A twinge of what looked like guilt crossed Quinn's face. "Somehow, someone uncovered your secret and I had to read it like an idiot that my girlfriend was suffering and didn't even have the sense to tell me. And you know what, Rachel? Your first blackout happened when we weren't having any problems! You have no excuses to not have told me!"

Rachel remembered vaguely mentioning to Quinn about the big bang theory. First there was nothing, and then the anger started, and it expanded outwards in all directions, and then it was everything. At this point, it was_ everything_. For weeks there had been no soft conversations, no intimate words exchanged. It seemed like all they did was fight. What was worse was the fact they were never able to finish their fights, and when that happens everything escalates and it's rapid and viscous.

To her it seemed so easy: the doctor gives you Valium, you take it, the headache goes away, get on with your life. _Yeah right_. She hadn't known about responsibility. She thought she deserved a medal for keeping this secret from Quinn, for managing her illness so well.

Rachel's tone was wry. "Why didn't you say anything?"

She shrugged. She looked_ hurt_. What a weak euphemism. "What could I have said? I've been stalking you because you've refused to tell me anything?"

Rachel almost laughed. It shocked her that even during their worse times, they were still in sync. She regarded Quinn, still amazed by her quick-wit even in a time like this. "What about last night? You could've said something then."

"You were so angry with me. You wanted to break up. I was wracked by panic and trying to salvage our relationship."

"I've tried to tell you. You're always with Mark—" She stopped seeing the hard, bleak expression on Quinn's face. "—Okay, I'm sorry. Let me start again." She willed herself to not throw up. "Every time I've got the courage to, you cancel our meetings and I didn't want to say this over the phone. I didn't want to burden you with this. I thought I could handle it myself. Quinn," Rachel watched her, not missing her closed expression. "Believe me I've wanted to tell you so many times. I don't know what else to say—I was frightened and alone. You were never around."

Unexpectedly, a rueful smile curved Quinn's lips, then her expression changed to doubtful in less than a second. A sick feeling settled in the pit of Rachel's stomach, and she blinked back a sudden sting of tears, telling herself not to be too melodramatic.

Quinn tightened her mouth as if to stop herself from screaming. "I've always been here, Rachel."

"You're always with _him_."

"You never needed me."

"I've always needed you!"

"Not enough to tell me the truth!"

"And I'm trying to tell you the truth now and you're acting like a complete bitch."

Quinn said through clenched teeth, "Yeah, I'm the bitch for caring and you've done nothing wrong, because you're never wrong. Is that what you want me to say, Rachel? God forbid, if Rachel Berry ever does anything wrong the world is going to end."

"You're angry with me for trying to confide in you?"

"You should've confided in me from the beginning—"

"I haven't been happy in weeks, Quinn, and you can't even see that—"

"And you think _I'm_ happy?"

"Living the life of the rich and famous isn't good enough for you?"

They're shouting at each other now and Rachel thought, Oh God, we've become one of those crazy couples you hear through the walls. Somewhere, someone's thinking, should I call the police? How did it come to this?

They fought Quinn's publicity stunt.

"When is it ever going to end?" Rachel said. "What's the point in you even doing it?"

"What's the point? You don't see it, do you?"

"Ah, cryptic. Very scary."

"I'm trying to keep my job!"

"You don't enjoy your job. You're going back to college to major in English."

"I also have to earn a living," Quinn stared at her and her eyes seemed vacant. "And also more to the point, I enjoy it, Rachel, _and_ I'm fucking good at it."

They fought about the unknowable gap between them in the guise of ending the argument.

"I'm going to leave."

Rachel felt concern for the meaning of those words. She suppressed it with anger. "Yeah, leave, that's what you do best."

"We've been fighting for over an hour. You really want to continue this? I have a lot more I want to say to you."

"Then why don't you express yourself, Quinn? You come into my apartment after I specifically told you to leave me alone and _you_ said we should talk. Then you—"

"_Talk_. Not shout!"

"What's the difference? Words are being exchanged!"

"Nothing's being solved. We're going back and forth. You're being so immature right now I can't—"

"And you're just the perfect example of an adult." Rachel knew it was a pathetic thing to say. Through the pain of coming off of Valium, she was scattered everywhere, and she was beginning to wonder whether she could gather herself together.

They fought about infidelity.

It was infidelity that was the final trigger, which is not as strange as it sounds. There was the publicity stunt, of course, which didn't count. This was a new thing: interest in another, was about desire or lust. It was painful, though in the scheme of things pain is a kind of strange word.

Quinn's movements stilled for a fraction of an instant, then said, "I'm not cheating on you."

"That wasn't my question."

Rachel knew that Quinn was angry she even asked—but disappointment cut deeper. "I don't have feelings for him."

"You enjoy his company—"

"Yes, I enjoy his company. I can talk to him about things, about how messed up this whole situation is. We laugh and we joke, it's completely platonic—"

"And the fact that he's not _me_."

Her words must have hit hard, like a physical blow. Quinn took several steps back. Stunned, Quinn stared at her. "Fuck, Rachel, how can you even say that to me?"

Heat rushed over her, blood roaring in her ears. Sudden tears welled in her eyes. "Because I can't make you happy anymore."

And then just as suddenly, they're both crying, slumped on the floor on the narrow hallway of the apartment they had bought together with such hope. Rachel's hand was covering her face, and she struggled to speak between great sobs and gulps of air. In the past twenty-four hours all she has done is cry. Her chest was tight with the very fear of it. "I can't stand this. Why is this happening to us? Quinn, I'm sorry. I should've told you about my health, maybe this could've been avoided, maybe—"

"Rachel—" Quinn wrapped her arm around her shoulder and Rachel fell limp into her. Quinn's eyes welled wet and red. "This blew out of proportion. I'm sorry. None of this is important. What's important is that you're stable and that you're going to be okay. Tell me you're okay, please; tell me that you don't have a brain tumor and dying any day now."

Rachel looked at her through grief-bloodied eyes and said the most honest thing she's said all morning, "I don't know."

"Why aren't you in the hospital? You should be—_I don't know_—Why haven't the doctors gotten back to you? What the fuck is even happening?" Quinn mumbled, panicked through tears.

The pit of her stomach was laden with gloom, and underneath the gloom was a ferocious panic wanting to burst out. "I'm really scared."

Quinn was feeling dreadful, in that all she felt was dread. Without knowing what to say, she stroked Rachel's hair in the silence.

Some time later they lay together on the floor in the same spot, as if they've been washed up there. Rachel's head is on Quinn's shoulder, her arm across her chest, taking in the smell of her, the warm comfortable smell that she's become so used to. The intensity of the previous hours left her momentarily shaken, but she smiled as her fingers grazed lightly over Quinn's skin, taking the pleasure in how Quinn's stomach muscles tightened, how she breathed more rapidly, and never breaking their gazes.

Rachel pressed their bodies closer, she tipped her head back and Quinn responded with a surprising kiss. The kiss deepened, tongues touching, caressing lightly. She sighed deep in her throat, and leaned further into Quinn's warmth.

The kisses turned leisurely and she met Quinn's mouth and tongue, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke.

Only when Quinn's hand slipped underneath her shirt did she become aware they hadn't kissed each other in weeks. After a moment, she broke the kiss so they could both come up for air—and it was then she noticed the raw need in Quinn's eyes, the way her pupils dilated so much that her eyes looked almost black.

In that moment, she realized Quinn had her on her back on the floor, their bodies against one another. Rachel's temper ebbed as her need for Quinn—which had been there all along, even in her anger—swept over her in a hot, liquid rush. In Quinn's eyes, half-lidded by her long lashes, she recognized that same awareness and desire. Her muscles softened and she relaxed back onto the floor.

"We shouldn't do this, Rach," Quinn murmured, and her hips moved against Rachel's, betraying her statement—they were just about as aroused as each other. "We need to talk about you."

"Afterwards."

For a long moment Quinn studied her, her gaze moving across from Rachel's eyes to her mouth and then lower. "What can I say to change your mind?"

"You don't want to."

"And why wouldn't I want to?"

"It's going to be worth it."

Quinn suddenly laughed, a low and wondering sound that made her smile. "Not if you do it wrong."

"Thanks for putting a little performance pressure on me."

Quinn slipped her hands further upward. She rested one against Rachel's cheek, her thumb brushing lightly, and her other hand cupped her breast through her shirt. Rachel sighed at the warmth of her hand, the tingles of pressure. Reluctantly, she drew Quinn's hand away, smiling as she sat up, then kissed her with enough heat to keep Quinn's attention right where she wanted it—on her.

Quinn made a low sound and grasped the front of Rachel's shirt, pulling her onto her lap. The act was all Rachel needed to coax her lips apart and Quinn gave a low growl of satisfaction. Quinn's tongue stroked her own, pressing urgently against one another, and making soft needful sounds. She shifted her hips to ease the ache, placing herself in-between Quinn's thigh and suddenly her hips moved in an insistent rhythm that totally fried clear thinking.

She had never seen Quinn bolt up and discard her clothes so quickly in her life. She watched Rachel as she did it, her gaze so hot and scorching. Her blood flowed through her veins in a rush of need and eagerness. She bit her bottom lip to keep from panting, the moisture pooling between her legs. She wanted Quinn all over her, inside her, _everywhere_. The next thing she knew, Quinn was naked and so was she, and Quinn was on top of her, between her thighs. Without a word, Quinn's fingers were exactly where Rachel wanted it most and she began stroking her slowly.

The intensity took her by surprise, and she kissed Quinn as hungrily and as demanding as ever. Quinn's fingers lingered and teased, making her so achy and shivery all at once. Pleasure rippled through her and she had to close her eyes and take a deep, controlling breath. But her eyes snapped opened when Quinn moved down her stomach and legs. Knowing what was coming, she pushed down on the floor, and the instant Quinn's tongue touched her, stroking gently for a few minutes before pushing it all the way inside, she came in a matter of seconds with tremors that left her feeling weak and hot.

Quinn's smile edged in a wicked grin. "I'm not done with you yet."

Quinn moved her attention upward and licked Rachel's collarbone. She closed her eyes for a moment as she savored the silkiness of Quinn's tongue. Reaching up, she traced her hands along the ropes of muscles that comprised Quinn's neck and back. God, she felt so good. Like velvet over iron.

Quinn bit her earlobe, and she gasped, "What do you want, Rachel?"

"I want—you—"

"To what?"

"Fuck me."

With her hands on Rachel's knees, she pushed them apart, wider and wider, and Quinn pushed her fingers so deep inside her that she felt it _everywhere_. That was all she needed. Her body screamed for completion. She needed it, would disintegrate without it. Her legs intertwined around Quinn's waist, gripping her tight and forcing her to move faster.

Rachel shattered completely, and a scream of fulfillment burst from her throat. Spasms consumed her body. She clenched tightly around Quinn's fingers, flying beyond the stars. Where would that lead to? The sun? The moon? Another universe?

The sweet aftershocks were still pulsing through her when Quinn resumed tracing with her fingers, making her wet all over again. "God, baby—" Rachel murmured against her mouth and let out a soft "oh" of pleasure.

There was no time for Quinn to respond because Rachel flipped them over and she straddled Quinn's hips. Rachel's fingers stroking Quinn with an unmistakable urgency. Watching the girl beneath her respond aroused her almost to the point of pain, and she meshed their lips together in a brutal kiss of warring tongues. She almost experienced another orgasm right then because Quinn shifted her thigh so as to slip between Rachel's legs, her hips rising against Rachel's hand.

Rachel's only thought was to let Quinn find release, and to give her the same, to show her, better than words, how much she _really_ loved her.

Rachel braced a hand above Quinn's head and slid the other upward over her stomach, cupping the soft roundness of her breast. Her nipple was taut and hard, she rubbed her thumb over the tip, and Quinn arched beneath her.

"Now," Quinn whispered. "Rachel, don't make me wait."

The moment she worked her fingers inside of Quinn, the girl shattered. She arched and writhed and canted Rachel's name, all the while, Rachel listened to her breathing—steady at first, then growing faster, less even. Quinn's nails digging into her back. Their lips met, tongues clashed. Quinn tasted like pure passion. A taste she already craved like an addiction. Quinn's knees squeezed her waist and she picked up her pace, her fingers working deliciously until Quinn's body stiffened and Rachel swallowed her moan of satisfaction.

"Angry sex is _so_ good." Rachel said hoarsely, sitting on her knees. One of her hands moved to Quinn's breast and pinched her nipple.

"Rachel—" It was a lame attempt at a protest.

As her other hand began a rotating dance that increased Quinn's pleasure, she could swear on all the Gods that she had never felt anything so right. Quinn's pleasure was steadily building again, and Rachel prepared her for another mind-shattering orgasm.

Rachel bit down on the sensitive cord of Quinn's neck, her teeth nipped the other girl's lips, and Quinn came right then. During that moment the only sound she could hear was the gasp and moans Quinn elicited, nothing more. Rachel watched all her muscles contract, she pushed her fingers deeper one final time and Quinn rocked herself into an imploding place. Then sound returned and the noise of the echo around them was like whole factories winding down, the whirring and spinning of gigantic wheels losing all momentum and drifting into a profound silence.

They could hardly speak as they laid beside one another, weak in the aftermath, every ounce of their bodies sated, afraid to shatter the lethargic spell. Rachel rolled her eyes upward and stared at absolutely nowhere, nothing, the four corners of the ceiling of the living room. She tried to gain control of her senses. There were no dictionary words to describe what had just happened.

She didn't even realize she was crying until Quinn kissed the tears from her cheeks. Her kisses and touch suddenly gentle. The warm contentment, all that desire, pushed its way out.

"I hope no one heard us." Quinn breathed against ear.

"I highly doubt that." She barely had enough strength to get the words out.

Quinn rolled onto her side, keeping Rachel in the strength and torridity of her arms. "Are you okay?" She asked wiping away her tears.

"Yeah."

Her expression became pensive. "About everything, Rach."

Rachel's next words froze in her throat. She had kept her fear about the headaches from Quinn for so long, telling her now was difficult. "I'm not sure how to begin."

"From the beginning?"

She laughed, although Quinn hadn't meant it to be funny. "Can we get some food, please? Then we'll talk, I promise."

Despite the heaviness of her head, with its headache and sinus pressure, she felt overtaken by a sense of peace. There was a levity to it, a lightness to it, like everything they had felt in the morning was now replaced by this new kind of bonding that would propel them into another realm of possibilities. She felt exhilaration that they had crossed the bridge and made it to the other side. That they wouldn't end and the bond was very much intact. It was a glimmer of pride about a very possible future.

Quinn rolled off of her then stood on her feet. Cool air immediately ghosted over them. A muscle ticked in Quinn's jaw as she began to put on her clothes. Rachel watched her, noticing the bite marks and scratches she had left all over Quinn's body. She liked it. She liked seeing Quinn branded.

"What do you want to eat?" Quinn ran her tongue over her teeth, her eyes glinting like pressurized steel. "Do you want to go out?"

Not even an hour into this love and her muscles were sorely stretched, her body shocked and soaking, though somehow, impossibly wanting more—

Quinn's eyes moved anxiously over her face, and abruptly Rachel felt it again, an awful sensation flashed through her, a hot blade slicing her neatly in half. Quinn helped her to stand and it worked, the pain was gone, the dizziness left her. She leaned up to kiss Quinn, tentatively at first, then deeply. When she pulled back, Quinn's pupils were dilated, shrunken to furious points. Quinn wanted her.

But Quinn was holding back. She straightened and then expelled a breath, "We'll go and get take out. Bring it back here."

"Oh okay, well, why don't you go alone?"

Quinn's eyes flared. "Why do I have to do all the hard work?"

"You're dressed and I'm standing here naked."

"It's not going to take you that long to get dressed."

Rachel shook her head. An edge to her voice layered by casualness. "You're already dressed and it'll be quicker—"

"You do know that we could be out the door right now if you'd just get dressed."

"Ugh, fine." Rachel grunted, grabbing her discarded clothes and stomping into the bedroom to tug on clean, presentable ones.

Twenty minutes later they stepped into the elevator and Quinn reached for her hand and the sweetness of the gesture filled her body with a current of ecstasy. When it reached the bottom floor, Quinn let go and she could almost feel her endorphins screaming for Quinn's touch as they slowly faded back into the blackness of her body. Worse than the feeling that the rush was over was the feeling of the paparazzi flashing the cameras in their faces like a ravenous hunger had ripped through them.

Instinctively, she grabbed onto Quinn's arm and they both smiled and waved brightly. There's a wordless exchange between the celebrity and the paparazzi. They tell you that soon they'll uncover your secrets, and they'll take away your life. Rachel could sense them telling her with one glance they knew she and Quinn were having an affair behind Mark Morley's back, and they'll expose Quinn for a fame-hungry celebrity who would do anything to further her career.

Once they were out of camera flashing distance, Quinn said, "So, start talking."

"Now?"

"We're alone, you can talk."

"I feel more comfortable if we sat down."

"Rachel, why are you delaying—"

Rachel stopped suddenly, and the look on Quinn's face was as though her heart had leapt out of her chest and her body was straining to pump oxygen to her lungs. "What's wrong?" She asked.

"I forgot my purse, and phone."

Quinn sighed in relief and narrowed her eyes. "Are you serious? Don't scare me like that!"

"What did I do?"

"I thought you were going to die or something."

She laughed and was about to lean in to kiss Quinn's pouted lips, but was reminded once again they were being watched. "You need to stop assuming I'm going to die, Quinn. I'll be right back."

"I have money—"

"What if Alex calls, or my dads, anyone?"

Quinn rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Yeah, because you're so in demand."

Rachel was already walking backwards and stuck her tongue out. "Five minutes."

In the quiet space inside the elevator, she started to prepare ways to tell Quinn the truth. She will need to tell Quinn, more than almost anything, about her dependence on Valium. Because that's something that can't be hidden. What she hoped that Quinn will realize is when she takes it, her head is clearer and it's putting herself in the position she needs to be in to make everything function.

When she reached her floor, the oxygen suddenly, inexplicably, cut out. At first she felt no panic. She took in deeper breaths but to no avail. She noted that her breathing was becoming more rapid, but at exactly the same time she was overcome by the very lovely sensation—a kind of flooding—that everything, all of the world and the atmosphere around it, was _falling_ with her. And yet a certain sharpness was gripping her head. You have a headache, the happy part of her was telling the other part. A deep and pleasant sleepiness was descending. She could see nothing at the edges of her vision. The hand rail, the carpeted floor, the clouds, so significant in their whiteness.

Her eyes felt too big for their sockets, and she blinked. Her legs were apparently paralyzed. She stood stock still holding onto the wall. She opened her mouth to call for help but it sounded so distant and foreign. Then she discovered she could not raise her hand. Then she discovered she could not feel her fingers. The glow from the window seemed to mean something, but beyond that was absolute blackness. The roaring of her head seemed unbearably loud, the rest of her senses were now far away.

The sensation was less than _falling_, more like a hurl and a thud, and when her head came to rest on the ground with her face against the carpet floor, her first instinct was to look around for her keys, which had somehow flew across to the other side. She tried to move her head but was unable to do so. She tried to push herself up because someone was looking at her now, their face craning over her. The person over her seemed fearful and asking her over and over again, Are you alright are you alright. She can hear someone crying and she realized that she's not alright. She blinked to put moisture back into her eyes. She told Quinn five minutes. She was definitely going to be late. Quinn's waiting for her.

Rachel thought of two very distinctive things.

The first is a photograph of herself at nine years old in a red swimsuit on a beach, she can't remember where, maybe in Lima or Colorado, perhaps. She's with her fathers who are swinging her towards the camera, their sun-burnt faces buckled with laughter. Then she thought of Quinn, waiting downstairs for her, looking at her watch, impatient; Quinn will wonder where I am, why I'm taking so long. She'll worry. And I never told her I love her.

She waits for the memories to come, to submerge her into another world. But she's spinning into nothing but blackness. The spinning suddenly stops, and when she closes her eyes, everything she knew and felt vanishes.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the cliffhanger. Well, not really :) I've started the next chapter already, so shouldn't be too long.<strong>

**Thanks for reading.**


	15. Chapter 15

**As usual this turned out longer than I expected so I decided to post the first part to ease your curious minds because everyone kept asking if Rachel's dead. I haven't worked on the second part yet, I got this out in two days so I'm going to rest for like a day. On another note, they'll be one more chapter and then the epilogue. **

* * *

><p><em>I was so undeserving<em>_  
><em>_And yet, you were relentless__  
><em>_I pushed—you pulled__  
><em>_I wept—you embraced__  
><em>_I bled—you repaired__  
><em>_I faltered—you shushed__  
><em>_I stopped—you smiled__  
><em>_I was a disaster, the worst of its kind__  
><em>_And yet you still had the audacity to let me know that I was beautiful__  
><em>_Which is why I refuse to ever let you go_

—Anonymous

**•••**

**January 26th, 2017: 9:38 a.m.**

_One minute._

The paparazzi staring at her made her feel like she was a criminal under investigation for insurance fraud, stalked by photographers who were hired to provide evidence. Paparazzi are the ultimate hunters. They are patient, prepared and precise. They'll ruin the illusion that this is your fake life—the life that you show to the world while keeping all the secrets of your real life hidden.

_Three minutes._

Rachel was right. Fame did something to her.

Her ego needed it. After reading those comments about her in newspapers and knowing what the whole world thought of her, the publicity stunt was a way for her to restore her dignity, and her uniqueness.

As always she wondered if there was something she had done wrong. Surely divorcing your traumatized wife could not have garnered that much hate? Maybe everyone just viewed her as nasty in a bad way because no matter how hard she tried she didn't give out a flirty, likable vibe? Maybe everyone only viewed her as the ice-queen she once was in Lima? And maybe when she tried to break through the ice veneer to find that sweet, amiable girl, she tended to just look vulnerable, fragile, in fear of abandonment, and needing to be held? Either way, the publicity stunt was supposed to fix this, it was a way to convince everyone beyond a doubt that she was not rapacious and greedy.

There's nothing like external validation. She _craved_ it. That's why she was Head Cheerio in Sophomore Year. That's why she agreed to be back on the Cheerios in Senior Year. The theory of objectivism claims that there are certain things that most people in society can agree upon. A cheerleader is pretty. A heterosexual actress is smart and sweet. Society is based upon objectivism. That's the only thing she's learned all through this fiasco she's caused for herself. She was too busy worrying about her relationship with Rachel to learn about anything else.

_Five minutes._

Her life was a fantasy. The leading lady in a movie. Mark Morley was her leading man. They have chemistry. A twenty-four year-old lesbian could apparently have chemistry with a straight man, could that mean she would have chemistry with _anything_? Her life was a fantasy with fantasy lovers and its make-believe conversations with make-believe people. So she was the perfect candidate to be in love with a man and consummate their pretend love.

Reality was the difficult part. And the reality at the moment was that it's Friday 26th of January, 2017, 10:54 a.m. and Rachel was making her wait.

_Seven minutes._

She didn't know what to do.

So she waited.

_Ten minutes._

She didn't know why Rachel was taking so long. She pictured Rachel nervously preparing a mental monologue of what she's planning to tell her. She pictured Rachel opening the drawers and cupboards and scampering around for her phone, maybe her purse too. Rachel tended to misplace her phone a lot. She pictured Rachel staring at herself in the mirror and not liking her outfit, then deciding to change it.

_Eleven minutes._

Yes, that was it. That's why she's taking so long.

So she continued to wait.

_Twelve minutes._

For the past ten days so much of her time seemed to be spent waiting on Rachel, knotted with stomach cramps and trying to act casual, willing for Rachel to finally confide in her. The moment she read about the hospitalizations, she had the urge to run to Rachel's aid, but she didn't have the energy to do it. Unexpectedly, a voice sounded in her head saying, If Rachel's in trouble she'll contact you. She's been insisting that she's okay. The hospital would not have discharged her if her condition was serious.

A drill sergeant voice accompanied it, telling her that she's missing out on all the opportunities she could help Rachel during the difficult time. She could hold her hand, hug her, kiss her, reassure her. There was another voice, it called her selfish and ignorant for not being by Rachel's side, for ignoring all the signs, it followed her everywhere and stuck with her through all the events, signings, interviews, photo shoots, where it laughed at her stupidity.

_Fourteen minutes._

But it was during this long wait that she began to realize something terrible has happened. That those voices were haunting her body, just as the image of Rachel lying unconscious was haunting her mind.

_Fifteen minutes_.

She felt the future drain away from her, like a rush of blood to her toes. It was physically painful.

Quinn learnt too late that after five years of developing parallel loyalties and trust, permanence and commitment, talk of babies, and leading up to the accident, memory loss and the divorce, that absolutely _anything_ can happen and if it can it probably will. She learnt too late that what is most important to us is always most precious the moment it occurs, and it is precious in its absolute immediacy and not as some vague confirmation of future directions; since the only certain fact, aside from death, is the flimsiness of everything. Such flimsiness hit her like a knockout blow on that pavement when she heard the siren of the ambulance.

She must have looked bad standing there because a paparazzo came over and asked if she was okay. Then more sirens and soon the place was surrounded by police men and women pushing everyone out of sight in order for the medics to run in the building. Quinn stood there, she just _stood _there. A wave of adrenalin connected the pain from her heart to her feet and refused to let her move. Her head began to spin. It felt like half of its regular weight even when it wasn't spinning. She felt unbalanced, like she might faint. It scared her. She hated the world so much when the world went wrong.

The fact that she wasn't running into the apartment made her guilt grow stronger. She was in the middle of a tragedy, hers and Rachel's, and the longer she stood there, the less she could think about the thing at hand, the more she became obsessed with the thought of turning back time and re-living the last half an hour all over again. She wished for time to reverse. All she could picture was convincing Rachel to go to the hospital instead of telling her to get dressed and getting food, they'd be there by now and Rachel would've been unconscious where a doctor would be able to help her. An image of herself in great relief, slumping on one of the chairs of having been smart enough to think of such a thing.

Such wishes are ridiculous.

It was horrific how much the situation in front of her were like the movies. Did movies get it right or did they teach us how to act? She heard a lot of yelling and screaming: Get out of the way, get out of the way, no cameras, have the decency to respect their privacy, this is not a red carpet event. She heard someone say, Quinn shouldn't you be up there with Rachel. At that point, she realized she was hoping it _wasn't _Rachel.

Such hopes are ridiculous.

She was trembling when the front doors of the building opened. She was so entirely prepared for this event: everything was exactly as she'd seen in the movies. The police were clearing the obstructed area. Rachel lay on the gurney, her face covered by an oxygen mask. There, lay a whole huge portion of her future: babies and travel and dreams and a long life together. The image of Rachel's body slammed past a black fog of lethargy and into her mind. Inside of her, one part was saying, There must be some mistake. This is not happening. I'm dreaming. The other part, further away, but more insistent, was saying, That's Rachel. She's lying unconscious. The sound of Rachel's name when it left her lips echoed around her.

Quinn, finally able to move her feet, took a step towards one of the medics. She placed a hand on his forearm and he looked down at her curiously. Her breath was coming in short, erratic pants, like she'd just run a marathon uphill. When everything finally hit her, it hit swiftly and with full force. Her mind tried to hold onto the scene. But the last thing she saw before she fainted was Rachel standing in her wedding dress.

Quinn, you're not supposed to be here.

Rachel was radiant, astonishing. She looked so beautiful it would scare anyone. Beautiful and hardly even tried. Quinn stood taking it all in, inhaling it like a scent, breathing in Rachel's image like her life depended on it. Quinn was so happy to be standing there, to bathe in the presence of uncomplicated joy.

Quinn?

Yeah.

You're staring again.

You're so beautiful. Let's just get married right now.

It's ten o'clock at night.

That's not stopping you from wearing your wedding dress.

I'm trying it on.

You tried it on two hours ago.

How do you know that?

Your dad told me.

I could've gained weight.

In two hours? That's extremely unlikely. Besides, if you do gain weight you'll have tomorrow to work it off.

Quinn, I'm still mad at you for writing those vows. This isn't the best time to be sarcastic. Also, I think you should go back outside and write new ones.

But I'm tried. I thought we could have pre-wedding sex.

No. We are not sleeping in the same room together—

Rachel, this isn't the right time to start lecturing me about the importance of typical wedding rituals. You did that yesterday and quite honestly, my ears are still hurting from listening to you.

Rachel's eyes were haunting with desire and Quinn had never seen her so beautiful. For some reason, she was having great difficulty holding herself together when Rachel closed the gap between them and kissed her. She was trying to relax, but the moment Rachel pushed her on the bed, within minutes—miraculously—she arched her back as Rachel dug her nails into her skin, her mind was doing that thing, you know the thing, kind of like _zooming_ over landscapes. Gliding through the ether. Nothing like that had ever happened before.

**January 26th, 2017: 1:10 p.m.**

Rachel's first conscious sighting was of a pale green ceiling that showed hairline cracks and a few bits of peeling paint. She thought at first it was part of some terrible nightmare, with plastic tubes connected to her arms, nose and body, fluids flowing in and out of her, and the feeling that she was unable to breathe and was suffocating. Then increasingly, she saw the smiles on everyone's faces: Her fathers, Judy and Kurt. She began to sense that it was all real. Everything was real. But the most real of all was the sudden terrible awareness that Quinn wasn't with her. She closed her eyes again and tried to catch her breath. Maybe if I wait awhile and open them again, Quinn will be standing in front of me. Twenty seconds later, opening her eyes, nothing changed. She felt something terrible, some deadly acid was flowing into her bloodstream through the attached tubes and searing her veins and flesh.

"Quinn." She managed to squeeze out.

Kurt's movements caused her to painfully turn her head to the right. Quinn lay on the bed beside her with an oxygen mask. Sweat ran down her face. She was suffocating again, her breath stifled as if the valves of her heart weren't closing and the blood was rushing back into her lungs. Her heart flared wildly then, and a hot adrenalin burned through her. The heart monitor beeped uncontrollably. The thought that it was Quinn's frightened her even more until she scanned her eyes around and saw that Quinn wasn't hooked to any machines. She let out a deep gasp of breath and sat up instantly and continued to pant, struggling for air.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps and shapes being pushed aside and new shapes hurrying to her bedside. She swung wildly at them, tearing a tube out of her arm and sending blood shooting in a bright red fall. A nurse pressed the vein shut and stuck the tube back into her arm while someone else gave her a shot.

"Let me go!" Rachel yelled. "What happened to Quinn? Why is she—"

Two nurses were struggling to hold onto her arms. One of them said, "Rachel, Rachel, Quinn's okay. She fainted, she's just sleeping. You're both doing great."

Then the morphine took hold and she was floating upwards, she glimpsed a star or a silver moon through the clouds. Already, the hospital was a distant memory, half-sensed, half-lost, she was floating now, through the constellations, gnawing on ether, endlessly satisfied, and happy too. Her mind opened out into the sunlight. Quinn appeared before her standing on top of the hill and she could hear the sound of a waterfall in the distance. She could feel the sun enveloping them like the mist, tendrils and wisps of contentment.

Hey baby, come and look at this stone.

Rach, you should come _here_. I can see my house.

We're in Colorado, that's highly impossible. Come _here_, seriously, you're going to laugh at this.

They had taken a little ambitious hike in the mountains. Rachel knew Quinn was nervous about the wedding and did her best to help calm those nerves. Standing by the stones parched along the large tree, they examined the graffiti that had been scratched: small jokes, DG Was Here, Canada Forever, Thatcher Out.

We could carve our initials.

What, Q 4 R?

4 Ever.

That's lame, Rachel.

Look at that one with the penis. Imagine climbing all this way just to draw that. Did he bring the pen with him, do you think?

I wonder what he was thinking: It's a lovely view, natural beauty and all that, but what will _really_ make it a better view is an image of a massive penis.

Rachel laughed mechanically, and stopped when she noticed Quinn's eyes were gold and blazing, her skin was hot and moist when she pushed Rachel against a large stone and kissed her. Quinn had a sublime softness to her. In her lips was all the ineffable essence of welcoming. Quinn smelled so neutrally and abstractly of nothing but heat and sweetness. It was a whole new experience as Quinn's tongue and fingers touched every inch of skin on her body. It was the most elevated experience she had ever had; she was spinning in glorious cycles.

**January 26th, 2017: 2:20 p.m.**

The moment Quinn opened her eyes, great sorrow overcame her, or perhaps it was just the sadness continuing from the morning. At first she felt it as two bands of pain across her middle. She shifted on the mattress to take a moment to stretch, but when she looked to the bed beside hers, the sadness merely resumed its position. It felt in fact like exhaustion. From there she contemplated the potentially debilitating, despair-inducing and claustrophobic notion that she _really_ hated the world when the world went wrong.

Quinn turned on her side to watch Rachel's sleeping body. Her mouth stretched into a small grin when she noticed Rachel breathing, it was a very good sign. The image of Rachel's face disappeared behind the tears she couldn't blink out of her eyes, so endlessly and soundlessly they were falling. She felt a sense of desperation; how can she make Rachel's pain better. She was so pale, and it was like Quinn was looking at her from behind a waterfall. She could feel a tingle of adrenalin at the back of her throat, the uncertainty about whether or not Rachel will get through this. She felt beads of sweat on her brow. She felt slightly uncomfortable in her clothes.

She began making a list in her head, a list of things she likes, and maybe somehow she could write her way out of the mess she's in. Okay, write a list—I like movies, especially in the 70's. I also like to watch them in the early hours when the rest of the world is sleeping. I like to watch football. To me it's a strange and beautiful sport from another planet. I like Rachel. I _love_ Rachel. Her warmth, her eyes, her sense of humor, attitude, legs, voice, laugh—And then she stopped and her mind began to wander. She tried to concentrate to bring it back but it was hard to think of things—Travel books. I like travel books. Fan fiction, I like reading them, especially about me—Then she gave up because her head began to throb and she asked herself,

Will Rachel ever get better?

"Quinn."

Rachel's voice was glorious, if it were possible she would parade their glittering magnificence. Rachel's eyes were translucent and radiant with whatever medicine they had given her.

Quinn's organs jolted into motion. She nearly jumped to her feet. Rachel was smiling back at her, happy in her own world. Relief and joy pounded through her so potently she could have wept again. Hope washed over Rachel's face, the same emotion she was feeling, and then Rachel snapped her eyes up to meet hers. Quinn wasn't sure what to say, so instead she shuffled to the edge of the bed, her arm stretching to the side, reaching out for Rachel and simultaneously, Rachel stretched out her arm and their fingertips grazed lightly in-between their beds, dangling in the air.

They came together so wonderfully and remained so wonderfully separated.

Rachel's the only person in the entirety of the universe to make her go weak-kneed. Quinn knows this for a fact, even though she hasn't met all seven billion people on the planet. She knows this for a fact because it's impossible to go weak-kneed while lying down, but it's exactly how Rachel made her feel at this very moment. Watching Rachel gave her heart palpitations and a rush of intimacy, flooding her with adrenalin and desire.

They remained like that. Their fingers conveying all the emotions. The minutes passed. The sun's glow turned Rachel orange, and it was like staring into the Ultimate Orange for Rachel's hair was auburn surrounded by an orange halo, her pale face a faint orange, she saw the sun on the horizon of Rachel's pupils. Quinn couldn't turn away from the fluorescently expanding display of light. She glanced down at their fingers so happily enmeshed, then back at Rachel, completely absorbed in her sweetness as she sighed and smiled and giggled and hummed.

Gratified, Quinn smiled and closed her eyes, and there appeared a vivid image of Rachel lying in her bikini on the beach, reading a book. Quinn thought about this and eventually fell asleep.

Is it just me or—

What?

Is everyone on this beach completely naked?

The long hot day crawled on. After the hike they trekked to the beach and swam and slept and read, and as the fiercest heat faded and the beach became more and more populated, Quinn was the first to notice the many naked bodies amongst them.

Oh yeah. Don't _ogle_, Quinn!

I'm not ogling. I'm observing.

You're not an anthropologist, you don't get to observe.

I could be, you know.

Well, until then you're not allowed to observe naked bodies.

What about yours?

Well—I...

Maybe you should be naked, Rach.

No!

Why not? I want to observe.

Did you not observe enough when you practically devoured me on top of the hill this morning?

That can't be classified as observing as I was too busy _exploring_ you with my tongue—

Quinn!

Rachel.

You're not funny.

Get naked for me.

I will do no such thing.

Okay, I'll get naked.

You're not _serious_?

Baby, have some fun. We're getting married tomorrow, and then we're going on our honeymoon. You're not going to see these people again.

Sounds like something I told you in high school when you refused to come out.

So... you're not taking off her bikini?

No, I'm not! And you're not allowed to either.

What are you going to do?

Withhold sex.

Rach, you know I'm irresistible. You _really_ need to come up with another threat, baby.

I'm not comfortable with anyone else looking at your naked body, Quinn.

Why's that?

Because you're mine. You're planning on becoming an actress and you're going to be on screen a lot. One day, the whole world is going to be mesmerized by your beauty. I want to see parts of you that no one else ever will.

Rachel's face was so close to her neck that Quinn could feel her breath, while she watched the sun reflect of her bronze skin. Quinn could feel the warmth of Rachel's skin, beckoning her, lulling her. That scent so uniquely Rachel's—daisies. She didn't know how to respond so she kissed her, warm and hearty, for a long moment.

I hope my grandmother doesn't suddenly appear.

I doubt your grandmother or your fathers even knows this place exists or else they wouldn't have let us roam free.

Quinn?

Yeah.

I love you.

Thank you.

You're not going to say it back?

Nope. Tomorrow.

You're making it extremely easy for me to want to call off the wedding.

I'd believe that if you hadn't just told me you loved me.

You're _really_ not funny.

Rachel Berry is like an eastern deity, forbearing of all of Quinn's uncertainties, patient with all her quirks. She never pressured, never created drama, well, other than the usual _diva-know-it-all-I-have-to-have-every-solo _attitude. She gives Quinn all the room she needs (that meant letting Quinn deal with her emotions in her own way). Rachel has an infinite kindness, and she's someone who is comfortable with awkward silences and doesn't mind Quinn not talking a lot of the time. Most of all, Rachel taught her a lot of things about life, especially how it's okay to feel something extraordinary about someone.

**January 26th, 2017: 2:35 p.m.**

Rachel lay watching Quinn as she slept, and wondered what she was dreaming about because there was a smile tugging at her lips. The sun on the horizon behind Quinn illuminated her beauty. There wasn't really much to say. Quinn's elegant shoulders, the laminated luxury of Quinn's fingertips brushing against hers, and even in her sleep, Quinn's fingers twitched as though trying to convey some kind of message. While lying there, she's beside herself with happiness and the pleasure was peppered with anxiety. She was very much aware there were obstacles in their lives that were yet to be hindered. But watching Quinn sleep, there was a burst of sensations. Rachel couldn't register the noises around her, those voices and clutters outside of that room; her focus was purely on Quinn. She was so absolutely present, so undistracted.

What will she say to Quinn when she wakes up? They've been incommunicado for way too long. There was too much talk inside her head. Sometimes she forgets whether she spoke it or not. It will be good to finally get the words out and communicate all her fears and agitations. It would be good to talk, long hours of talk, something more complex than just their careers.

She would tell Quinn, that she tried to believe and she tried to not believe that there were vultures as big as pterodactyls circling overhead waiting to descend on her soul as it expired its final weak breath.

She had never thought such things before and it was an effort trying to suppress them. She had known for a long time she was in trouble but she didn't know what it was. She had a glimmer of awareness that the spirit had been squeezed out of her. There were times she didn't know if she could ever survive without the drugs, without Valium. It was a world of trepidation. The truth was, it was awful and frightening, having so many drugs in her system after having none to begin with. She could sense the Valium levels getting higher and higher the more her head ached, like the rain flooding the desert after a long drought. She felt brittle and dusty, and in the past couple of days while waiting for the results, she found herself close to tears. But she couldn't cry and at such moments she felt alarm edged with despair, and despair edged with alarm.

And then she'll say, whenever she thought of Quinn she understood what it meant to be a couple: It meant that whenever she's on stage, amongst the hundreds of faces clapping and cheering for her, it was Quinn who was more present to her than anyone else. It meant that Quinn was with her wherever she was—on stage, on a flight to Los Angeles—because she knew that no matter what happens between them they would always find their way back to one another. It meant that she could endure all this pain, all the obstacles, just to be back in Quinn's arms again.

She lay still for several moments trying to calm her racing heartbeat. Quinn was still smiling and Rachel wanted to peek into her dreams. Her thoughts were distracted when a shadow enveloped her and she turned to see Kurt hovering over her.

Every line of his face was withered with concern but he managed a smile. "Hey, I'm so glad you're awake."

"Shh, Quinn's sleeping."

He glanced over to see their grazed fingertips and chuckled. "You two are so gay it's impossible to _be_ any gayer."

Rachel ignored him and gestured toward the cup perched on the table and he handed it to her. She downed the cool contents, it was like a revitalizing agent. "Where's everyone? Don't tell me no one visited me in my time of need?"

"The two of you were sleeping so peacefully we decided to get some food. Your dads are outside, do you want me to call them?"

"It's okay. Do you know what's happening with me?" She asked.

He shrugged, the action was stiff, more clipped. "No idea, Rach. What do you remember?"

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. The last thought to have drifted through her mind before she blacked out was of Quinn waiting impatiently for her outside the building. She hadn't told Quinn she loved her, and that thought spiked her heartbeat further. It beeped loudly on the monitor. From the corner of her eye, she saw Quinn twitch and lurch in her position.

Her piercing hazel eyes were broad and unsmiling. Slowly, very slowly, her eyes adjusted and they locked gazes. Rachel could feel Quinn's panic. "What happened? Are you okay?" She asked.

"I'm okay," her heartbeats slowly subsiding. Very slowly. "Slight error."

"Why's your heart beating so fast?" Quinn studied the monitor. She relaxed when the numbers reduced, and then she just stared at Rachel with a questioning eyebrow.

Embarrassed, she blinked and focused the attention on Kurt. "Quinn, you didn't say hi to Kurt. That's rude."

Her eyes flickered over to him, who looked casual and unconcerned. "Hey, Kurt."

"Wow, Quinn, that's a lot of enthusiasm in your voice," he said smugly, watching Quinn pad her way over to Rachel's bed. "I can feel the love."

She didn't bother answering him and climbed onto Rachel's bed—completely uninvited—adjusting herself comfortably, snuggling close. The atmosphere was suddenly warm and soft, their close proximity soothing her skin. It didn't take long for Rachel's subsiding heartbeats to amplify.

A glimmer of humor lit Quinn's eyes, making the green appear almost yellow. "Oh, so that's why your heart is beating so fast."

"Okay, you two are too gay even for me to be around," Kurt said. "I'll get your parents." He lunged forward and pulled both girls into a hug. "I'm so glad you're both alive."

The moment Kurt left the room, Quinn leaned over and kissed her and Rachel wondered whether it was all a dream, a delirium brought on by exhaustion—except she could feel Quinn's palm on her thigh, not to mention the lingering, aching frustration between her legs that was beginning to build up. How did Quinn always manage to do that? It can't be normal. Quinn must not be human. That would explain those exquisite eyes which seemed to change color depending on her emotions.

The longer they kissed, Rachel became self-conscious about the fact that she should've brushed her teeth.

Quinn pecked her lips a final time before pulling away. "I'm sorry, Rach. I didn't—"

"No, it's not—"

"No, I'm sorry. None of this matters to me, all the fame and money," Quinn shifted in discomfort, and glanced down at their clasped hands then back to meet her eyes. "It wasn't that I lost sight of it, I just—I wish you had told me, and I was just bitter about it, you know, that I had to find out from—"

"How long have you known?" She interrupted, her tone was uncompromising, and she held her breath waiting for the answer.

"Ten days." A sudden coolness settled over her face, and it was as though Quinn was punishing herself silently for not acting sooner; taking in all the burden. "I'm sorry. I—Rach, I'm just sorry."

Rachel exhaled the breath in—relief? Joy? Calmness?—she had honestly expected a longer length. That's not to say that Quinn ignoring her pain for ten days didn't _hurt_, but she knew that if it had been a month she would've boiled in anger.

Quinn's expression was oddly tight and sulking in her position. Rachel reached out to reassure her. A blush crept up on her cheeks and she had no idea why. "I'm not going to lie and say that it doesn't hurt knowing that you didn't comfort me, but I should've confided in you sooner."

"I haven't made it easy, have I?" Her tone was sullen. "You know, with Mark and all that?"

"No." She's thought of the many times, night after night, waiting for Quinn to call, or counting the minutes until her next text. If it weren't for her headaches being a distraction and the fact she had so much to deal with, she most likely would've cried every night. Her mood weakened, a shadowy foreboding fluttering at the back of her mind. "Quinn, we've been through too much together and we've come this far. I don't think I can lose you again. I don't _want _to."

Despite Quinn's efforts to stay strong, Rachel heard the remorse in her tone. "I know, Rach, and—I _need _you. I need you to yell at me when I'm being ignorant and a bitch because you keep me grounded. And this whole publicity thing, I'll end it—"

Rachel cupped her face in her hands and looked directly into her eyes. "It had nothing to do with the publicity, Quinn," she said with a quiet intensity. "It was _you_. And partly us."

"You really do know how to be direct." Quinn's voice was cool, but she detected no bitterness, sensed no shame, just apology.

Rachel wound her arm around Quinn's waist and leaned into her. "I'm not saying I'm not at fault. It would've been—"

Hiram, Leroy and Judy entered the room at that moment cutting off her words. Quinn slid off the bed to embrace Judy and Rachel's fathers bought her in for a bone crushing hug. Their hug threw her backwards onto the bed, air shoved out of her lungs. When she was able to breathe again, she inhaled deeply to fill her nostrils. But it was proving difficult so she said with a strangulated voice,

"I can't breathe."

"Oh, sorry." Hiram ruffled her hair and hugged her again. "We're so glad you're okay."

"How are you feeling, Quinn? You gave me quite a scare." Judy said.

"I—"

"What happened to you?" Rachel said in a ragged breath suddenly realizing Quinn had been lying unconscious on the bed beside her.

Quinn's cheek tinged pink and she wiped a hand over her jaw. She was _smiling_. "Oh, um, I fainted—"

"When? Why? Are you—"

"Rach, obviously I'm fine."

Rachel dragged in a deep breath to fill her lungs with oxygen before saying, "I can see that. What I meant was—"

"I fainted when they carried you out of the building and I—"

"Oh okay, I understand."

Leroy's face reddened, he had a pinched look, and then suddenly he burst out into laughter. A loud, belly rolling laughter that engulfed the room and held onto the railings to keep him steady.

"What are you laughing at?" Hiram asked, confused.

Leroy's broad grin, flushed face, and bright eyes—adrenaline obviously still going high—made it impossible for everyone else not to smile. Hiram nudged him on the ribs and repeated the question.

"It's just funny," he said through laughter. "That only the two of you can understand what you're saying. You cut each other off mid-sentences. What kind of communication is that?"

"Some things just don't change." Judy added. "Remember the big family dinner? They were having their own conversations."

"And the wedding!" Hiram said. "They basically said each other's vows!"

"Don't forget the family dinner with your mom," Leroy said. "She thought they were insane."

For a moment, Rachel and Quinn both went still. Rachel glanced over at her and caught her gaze. As a blush heated her cheeks she looked away and pretended to be mesmerized by the fabric of her hospital gown. As good as it was to hear them reminiscing about the past, a part of her tried not to dwell on the fact that she had no memories of it. How easy it was for them to just pluck a memory in the air and recall it, while she _struggled_ to remember something. Her mood darkened, a cold fear wrapped around her. For a long time it hadn't bothered her, but it was moments like these she wished things could be different.

Still looking down and pretending to be fascinated by her gown, Quinn's hand covered hers, and feeling the tingle of pleasure at the gesture, she tugged Quinn closer and buried her face in the warmth of neck. Quinn was like the promise of everything wonderful, the promise that it didn't matter she no longer has these memories, because she had Quinn and that was better than _any_ memory.

Quinn held her tighter kissing the top of her head. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut feeling tears sting her eyes.

"Rachel, why are you crying?" Judy asked.

"Oh," she wiped them with the back of her hand. "Just a little emotional."

Quinn changed the topic. "Where's Kurt?"

"Not really sure," Leroy answered. "He told us you were awake and then left to go somewhere. Where the hell is that doctor?"

She felt those sparks of panic again, anxiety. It seems all she's been feeling is anxiety. Anxiety for the results. Anxiety for telling Quinn. Anxiety for her life. Minutes passed. Maybe ten, she wasn't sure. She tried to be positive by telling herself that she's no longer alone in this and that Quinn is with her. It was the way the clock ticked on the wall that made her nervous, tick tick tick, the hands moving closer to the results, closer to when the doctor appears. Even the feel of Quinn's body leaning against hers did nothing to extinguish the anxiety.

A lot of the time she couldn't concentrate on the conversations at hand. There was something close to terror now. She looked out the window and could see the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance. Tiny as it may be, she saw the park, a dark rectangle around which traffic edged. At one point Quinn's gentle squeeze on her hand shook her out of her trance.

"Homework has little educational worth, and is therefore a waste of the students' time."

"It _encourages_ children to work more independently."

"Homework provides a link between the student, school and time."

They were debating about homework. Not Quinn though. Quinn was lazily running her fingertips along the length of Rachel's forearm, writing invisible notes: I love you, Q 4 R, This is boring. It was as though weeks of Quinn's light caresses have enabled her to distinguish the messages on her hypersensitive skin. Every stroke alleviated her anxiety. Quinn _literally_ swirled her blood, head and body into a hallucinatory expansion until she could feel nothing but the intense beating of her heart.

The heart monitor beeped wildly and the room went quiet. She _really_ needed to control that.

"Sorry," Rachel said. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure, Rachel?" Leroy inspected the numbers on the screen. "That's really high. Where is that doctor?"

"Really, daddy, I'm fine," she stilled Quinn's movements on her arm and caught the knowing glimmer in her hazel eyes. "What were you talking about?"

"Oh, we were debating about..."

Her mind started to drift into a spiral, tightening and speeding up. Around her everything blurred. There was a whining in her head, a terrible racket, like the sound of screeching tires. She could not hear her thoughts. She could not hear the conversations around her. She could see the fear in Quinn's eyes. She could see Quinn's mouth moving. She could feel Quinn's hold on her tightening. Then just as suddenly everything went silent and a second later it cleared. She could think again. She could hear again. She sat bewildered, so far removed from pain yet so immersed in it.

"Rachel?"

Her heart hammered at the sound of Quinn's voice and she could see Quinn push out a relieved breath when she nodded in acknowledgement. The heart monitor continued to spike.

"Headache?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah."

A knock on the door interrupted them and they all turned as the serious-faced doctor asked silently for permission to enter. The first thing Rachel noticed about him was the shadow of a beard. He was one of those men who, no matter how often they shaved, always had that shadow.

"Doctor Hawkins," he said, walking forward, hand extended to shake Rachel's and Quinn's. "I'm so glad you're awake."

"Hi," Rachel waited for further pleasantries but none were forthcoming.

Hiram stepped up to him and shook the doctor's hand in a quick shake. After introducing himself he said, "Where's Doctor Andrews?"

"Doctor Andrews referred me to your case." He locked eyes with Rachel, seeming to pin her to the spot. Rachel didn't like the word _case_. It made her feel like a _Law & Order_ victim.

"Is something wrong?" Hiram asked.

"Before we get started," he turned to Quinn. "How are you feeling?"

Quinn shrugged as though her health wasn't the slightest bit important. "I don't feel any different."

"You had quite a faint," he scanned the chart in his hand. "You were unconscious for three hours." Then he quickly added, "Oh, according to this it's as though you fainted and in the process fell asleep. Didn't sleep well last night?"

A blush crept up on her cheeks and she sucked on her bottom lip. "Big night. But I'm fine. What about Rachel?"

He took a beat as if to ready himself before delivering the blow. It scared her. She knew there would be something wrong, but his hesitation sent a wave of fear through her body. She began to break out into a sweat and her gown was melted into her skin, she yearned for relief from the pain as a man lost in the desert yearns for water. Everything was still all around her.

She told herself, there is no point in being nervous because I can't affect the outcome, what's done is done.

"I'm sorry to have taken a while to have gotten back to you. I want to make sure that my assumptions are correct. Okay, let's get started." He pulled the small table closer to him and placed a photograph on the surface. "Tell you what you see in that photo."

Frowning, she tipped her head up to question him. "Excuse me?"

"It's part of the test, Rachel. Tell me what you see."

Rachel knew an order when she heard one, no matter how politely stated. "Um, okay. I see you and a woman with blonde hair and a cute child."

"Tell me what your mind is thinking as you're looking at the photo."

She didn't answer straight away. Instead she sighed and gazed up at Quinn who smiled. "Nothing, really," she finally answered. "I mean, there are no thoughts there. Well, I assume that's your child and that's your wife. She's very cute. Your child, that is. Your wife is cute, too. Cute is probably not the right word, but she's not ugly. I mean—I'm sorry, this is—"

He chuckled. "It's okay, Rachel. I won't tell her you said that." The doctor straightened in his position and asked, "Can any of you lend me a photo. Not a recent one. Preferably one that Rachel won't remember."

Leroy was the first to take out his phone and seconds later, settled on a photo. He placed the phone of the table and the doctor said, "What do you see?"

"Me. At graduation."

"Your thoughts?"

"Um, I look happy—"

"Tell me everything you're thinking. Pretend we're not here."

Self-consciously, her grip on Quinn's arm tightened. "I see that I'm happy, really happy. It's my graduation from NYADA. I assume that I was valedictorian and delivered a wonderful, heartfelt speech. Afterwards we celebrated at a nice restaurant and spent the night out with my friends. We talked about our futures, keeping in touch. We did—I'm sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

He summoned a smile and immediately her tensed muscles relaxed at the certainty in his eyes. "You're condition is extremely rare, Rachel. It's called Transience Attribution. The problem is you're forcing yourself to reclaim your lost memories and your brain is having a difficult time distinguishing between what's real and what isn't. It's not able to store the new memories because you're focusing on your lost ones. Does that make sense?"

Rachel took a deep breath, sensing again that blur rushing toward her. This is not the time to blackout, she told herself. She took in the doctor's words and the terror hit her with such paralyzing intensity. "I understand. What does that mean, though?"

He asked her three questions—

Is your brain cluttered? Do you sometimes have difficulty concentrating on a task? Is it hard for you to do the simple things, like sitting and eating? It's as though you can't get yourself to act out the simple gesture of sitting on a chair.

To all questions she nodded reluctantly.

"Can I be honest with you?" He said. Another nod. "You're not getting your memories back, Rachel. If you do, it's scattered and it happens at the most unlikeliest of times."

Leroy came to stand beside her, rubbing her shoulders soothingly. She smiled, patted his hand and then looked back at the doctor. He watched her with interest. Rachel wished she knew what he was thinking, just have a peek inside his brain and get all the answers she wanted.

"The funny thing with memory—" He continued, "—is that the process occurs automatically. When I look at this photo," he gestured to the one he had bought. "I see myself, my sister and my niece. I see the memory of us at the beach and Lily got stung by a jellyfish and she cried all the way home. What _you_ do, Rachel, is that you read too much into a photograph and you're trying to conjure up an image which most of the time isn't real but you think it's real and you hold onto that. And that is cluttering your brain.

Basically, at the moment all the neurons and cells are just out of whack. Every time you conjure a memory, a lot of noradrenaline is being transmitted, diffusing across the synaptic cleft and into the hippocampus where long-term memory is stored. When this happens, it expels all _new_ memories and makes room for _fake_ ones. The main reason why you feel cluttered is because nothing is happening automatically anymore. The fact that you sometimes have a hard time not knowing what to do when you see a chair is a sign that you're losing the body's automatic reflex mechanisms."

She struggled to compose herself as Leroy continued to rub at her shoulders. She met Quinn's expressionless gaze but couldn't hold it. "So, what's the treatment?" She asked.

"There's been no known cure," he said. "The only recommendation is to stop thinking."

"That's it?" Quinn spoke up for the first time. "Stop _thinking_?" She narrowed her eyes and reined in her impatience. "What kind of advice—"

"Quinn." Rachel said softly.

"Not to _stop thinking_ per se," he held up his hands in a calming gesture. "What I mean is, when you look at a photo or read a letter, imagine it from a stranger's point of view. It's just that; a letter and a photo. When you looked at my photo, you only saw what was in front of you, there was no memory to conjure up because you have had to be there, you have had to experience it. That's what you need to do, Rachel, that's all it is to you.

It's reasonable to ask questions like, what did I do afterwards, who did I celebrate with, but not to _imagine_ that you experienced it. There's too much happening in your brain at the moment. I'm sorry to be brash. There really is no easy way to tell you this. Everything that you see or read from all the memories that you've lost is from a stranger's point of view. And you need to keep it that way in order to recover." He stopped for a moment and added, "I do however want to do an Intracranial Pressure Monitor. It's a procedure where we insert a probe through your skull to monitor its pressure."

"You know, for a doctor, you're horrible at your job." Quinn said, and he stared at her in stunned silence. There was such a coldness and anger in her tone. "You let her suffer for days after doing all these tests and the only solution you have is—"

"Quinn, he's just—" Rachel started but he interrupted.

"It's okay, I understand that you're frustrated, and I know my advice isn't much, but I'm sorry I can't offer you any more than that and a prescription to stop the headaches. The tests we did were all inconclusive. We didn't detect any abnormalities in the MRIs and CT-scans which is why everything has been puzzling." He replied in a clipped professional tone. "Your condition is extremely rare. It's sort of like post-natal depression. Some women get it after birth, some don't. The same apply to you, some amnesiacs get it, some don't."

Quinn's fingers drummed impatiently on her arm, and for some unknown reason she envisioned Quinn's fingers doing _other_ things to her body. Preferably between her legs. Instantly, heat stung her cheeks at the thought and she looked up to meet Quinn's unwavering gaze.

Wonderful. I have a rare condition that can only be treated by _not thinking_—and yet I'm envisioning Quinn doing explicit things to me. Well, really, in a rife day with aberrations, what was one more?

"I've scheduled you in to theater for four p.m. The process won't be any harm." He handed her a consent form. "If you wish to, that is."

Without bothering to read through it, she signed it and handed it back to him with an added, "Thank you."

"What a stupid doctor," Quinn said when he left, her stubbornness, anger and impatience firing at once. "If that's all it takes to be a doctor, I can even do a better job."

"Medical school is seven years, sweetie." Judy said trying to calm her.

"Yeah, and in that seven years his advice is to _stop thinking_ and put a probe in her brain. Don't worry about the blackouts, just stop thinking and it'll all get better. What the fu—"

"Quinn!" Judy said sternly. "Language."

Quinn threw herself off the bed and stomped her way over to the other side acting like a spoiled brat who's mother didn't buy her a Barbie doll. Rachel watched in fascination as Quinn muttered angrily to herself, it wasn't nearly half as bad. Rachel was kind of used to it; it was a typical Quinn Fabray reaction. Quinn couldn't get angry at Rachel's condition because, well, it's concealed in her brain, but the doctor was more of a convenient outlet especially since his advice was brief and did nothing to assist with the blackouts except offer more medication.

The next step Quinn will take is to attempt some measure of control, and Rachel had to let her succeed. In a day or so she'll calm down and be less confrontational. Recovery for _this _Quinn was just a step away, and patience is highly recommended.

She focused her attention on Leroy as he spoke, "Well, that was—"

"A waste of fucking—"

"Quinn!" Judy said again. "Stay in your corner and sulk until you've calmed down." She turned back to Leroy. "My daughter is like a child sometimes."

He laughed. "Rachel can be just the same."

"Hey, I'm right here."

Hiram squeezed her in for another hug and a kiss. "At least now we know what's going on, better than anxiously twiddling our thumbs."

"Should we get some food? Have you girls eaten?" Leroy asked.

The thought of food made her stomach rumble and wondering what Quinn was thinking, she glanced over and Quinn was still muttering to herself. She wondered what she could do to get her to stop arching her eyebrow and frowning, or get one side of her mouth to curl. She had a nicely shaped mouth, and even a lovelier smile.

"I haven't eaten," Rachel said. "I'm starving."

"Okay, we'll bring you back something."

By slow degrees, the world around her was flattening into two dimensions like the inside of a children's coloring book. Gradually, she too, began to drift, a searing thinness and a desperate panic, as if the oxygen had been sucked out of her body. Try as she might, she couldn't feel the weight of the disaster. The sound of Quinn's voice kept distracting her, lighthearted, simple, and luring her out of the darkness, away from the dour intonations of her blackout. Her eyes never strayed away from Quinn, as if her gaze were one strand in a fragile, delicate web whose slightest disruption would bring the world crashing down upon her.

Rachel leaned forward and grabbed onto her hand. She too was watching Rachel with apprehension, but after a moment she saw Quinn glance at the door as two or more people entered the room, then glanced back at her reluctantly, as if helpless, the beating of the heart monitor sounding in the distance. She kept spinning and gathering momentum, the centrifugal force won't allow her to stop. She can't stop. Now she can't see anything. She's tumbling, falling off the axis. She's spinning into that blackness again, unable to hold on, and then she heard Quinn say, Rachel I love you and she said I love too but whether it actually escaped her lips she couldn't be sure.

Out of the blackness came a vision of herself and Quinn walking around Colorado in search of a local bar, eating peanuts and playing closely matched games of pool through the late afternoon.

I don't think your grandmother likes me very much.

Of course she does, Quinn.

She has barely spoken a word to me.

She's just a bit grumpy because you keep interrupting me whenever I talk. She's like that, _our_ grandmother.

I wouldn't be surprised if she objects to the wedding tomorrow.

She's not going to do that.

I said I wouldn't be _surprised_. I didn't say she's going to do it.

Can we go home now? I feel woozy from all that beer. Which was a bad idea on an empty stomach.

I haven't won a game yet.

Quinn, after ten games, if you weren't going to win the first three, you're never going to win.

Where'd you learn to play pool so well?

Just another one of Rachel Berry's hidden talents.

Is staying silent during sex number one of that list?

I find it extremely amusing that you can relate everything back to sex. I'm starting to believe you have a problem.

It's not a problem. It's just _you_.

Rachel won another game and frustrated, Quinn gave up, cutely pouting as they walked back to her grandmother's cabin in the evening light, woozy and affectionate from the beer. Watching Quinn through her family's eyes, Rachel felt proud of her; Quinn twinkled at her aunt, was girlish and funny with her cousins, seemed sincerely interested in her uncle's koi carp and talked about football as though she knew who was going to win the championship. Only her grandmother seemed skeptical of Quinn's appeal and sincerity. Divorced with two sons (one of them gay), resentful and perpetually exhausted in her old age, the poor woman was not in the mood for another gay wedding.

Their week in Colorado was a chance to hit two birds with one stone. No, she shouldn't use animals as a metaphor, that's inhumane. Banana? Hit two banana's with one stone. It was a chance for a holiday and in the process have a discreet wedding. Which they have both insisted was not really a wedding, more of an excuse for a party. They had a difficult time deciding where to have the wedding: Colorado or Columbus. Both places holding the most significance to them as Rachel was in Colorado and Quinn in Columbus the first time they had spoken through tumblr. It involved weeks and weeks of lists, pros and cons and most of all, arguments—

_My_ grandmother's garden is bigger! My dads had their wedding there.

I haven't seen _my_ grandmother in a year.

Don't use your neglect for your grandmother as an excuse, Quinn.

In the end, they drew up two contracts—

_I, Rachel Berry, hereby grant Quinn Fabray permission to have a bachelorette party in exchange for a wedding in Colorado. Quinn shall not—1. Touch another woman (or man). 2. Get drunk to the point of unconsciousness. 3. Be home any later than 2 a.m (any time after that she will sleep on the couch for a week). 4. Do __anything__ reckless involving Santana Lopez and Noah Puckerman. 5. Look at another woman (or man) if they have less than five items of clothing. _

_I, Quinn Fabray, hereby grant Rachel Berry permission to have the wedding in Colorado in exchange for a bachelorette party. Rachel shall not_—_1. Call me every five minutes (I will call every two hours to let her know that I am very much still alive). 2. Sit at home and whine that she's not having any fun. 3. Wait up for me (if she so much as times me I swear to God __**she**__ will be sleeping on the couch). 4. Watch Barbra Streisand movies to pass the time. 5. Bombard me with text messages (two every hour is the maximum). _

As strange as it sounds, the contract was their biggest accomplishment to date. The fact that they could even _agree_ to something as complicated as this was a huge accomplishment. When choices are reduced, you can really concentrate on one thing at a time. Too many choices had them going into a meltdown. And in Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray's world, _two_ was more than they could deal with.

That night she got started on her vows. After reading Quinn's vague vows they agreed that it should be secular and not too sentimental. The idea of sitting face-to-face and composing promises to each other was almost too embarrassing. Rachel got set to work in earnest, typing up a structure, then switched the font from Courier to Ariel to New Times Roman and back again, changing it to italics to bold to underline and then deciding normal font would look best. She adjusted the paragraphs and margins so that it looked more substantial, and then she counted the words: My bride's speech to Quinn.

That was it. Five words. Twenty-two characters. Twenty-_six_ with spaces. She had been sitting on the laptop for half an hour. The fact that Quinn was able to write more than she did horrified her more than the fact that for once in her life, she was_ at a loss for words_.

Santana called me today.

Did she finally agree to not come to the wedding?

Rach, the only way she's not going to come is in your dreams.

My nightmares, you mean.

Anyway, she said that you registered for the gifts.

And—?

You registered for a million dollar Barbra Streisand statue—

Oh—

_Oh_? That's all you have to say for yourself—

It's a Barbra Streisand statue, Quinn! It would look great in the living room. Kind of like a, Hey, welcome to—

_It was all you registered for_!

_You registered_!

_No_, I didn't. That was _your_ job!

What do you mean, _my job_? We were supposed to register for whatever we wanted separately.

That's not how it works, woman! It's one wedding, one registry.

So what? No gifts...?

No one is going to get us a million dollar statue.

I was hoping they would split the—

Are you really that dense, Rachel? We don't know any millionaires. Half of our friends don't even have proper jobs!

I told you we should've waited until they were more successful to have a wedding. Or at least when _we_ make millionaire friends.

Should we cancel it?

Do you think we'll get the deposit back?

Probably not.

I guess you're stuck with me then.

I guess so.

Quinn Fabray is like a sinewy goddess. Every time Rachel is around her there's always a flickering and a sparkling that grows more intense, and even when they're apart she feels this force, a rush of vertigo, a luminous pull towards her. Quinn makes her feel breathless sensations just with her fingertips, every stroke of the palm of her hand on the nape of Rachel's neck, on her back, every hot-breathed kiss. You know, the sensations that you can't quite explain because there are no words to do it justice, since the sensations _alone_ are so exquisite.

Quinn Fabray is anchored in the center of her heart.

**January 26th, 2017: 4:05 p.m.**

_Jerry Springer_ was on television. It's a hypnotically bad show and Quinn can't seem to look away. A red-faced audience member stabs the air with her finger and shouts at a guest member, You're stuck on stupid, Victor, waiting to get dumber! Beside her, she heard Kurt trying to stifle a giggle. We all deal with things as best we can, and the best she can deal with things at the moment is through bad television. The television in one of the rooms is set to a documentary and Quinn watched the cuttlefish mate. Where do all the fish come from? In the split second of coupling, his body changes color from white or grey to a vivid pulsing crimson. She read the subtitles and the narrator is saying that this is so other males know what is taking place and keep away.

At any rate, despite how good documentaries can be, television is a hit or miss, not such a good thing when you're feeling depressed.

She misses Rachel: something as simple as her boiling a cup of tea.

She couldn't stop thinking about the image of Rachel going from full consciousness to full _un_consciousness in the span of a minute. The moment Rachel's face paled and her head swirled back and forth lightly she knew what was about to happen. Rachel moaned a little, not out of pleasure, and then her head slumped forward so fast that her spine bounced twice in the reverberation. Her hair untied from the jolt and she ended up flopped back on the bed. They brought her into theater to do the procedure right away and it's now been exactly an hour and a half.

Quinn sat there trying to dissect her personality like dissecting a rat's organs. She shouldn't use animals as a metaphor, Rachel would not like that. A tomato? Tomatoes are complex, just like her. They have organs and seeds and divided into sections. She has been told that she has a very complicated personality, hard to read, emotionless. Finn Hudson even said to her at one point—_Do you not feel anything, anymore?_—that bastard. People develop a compelling curiosity about her plight, and each hangs around for a couple of weeks. Sooner rather than later they sense the inviolability of the wall that surrounds her, and then they leave. If they don't jump, she pushes them.

Then, there's Rachel. Adamant, stubborn, hopeful. She's got a fiery determination to never give up and _that_ is the only reason their relationship has yet to dissolve all these years. Because of Rachel. Everything is because of Rachel and her damn perfect never-give-up personality. Their relationship could be summed up in that poem she read. She pushed—Rachel pulled. She wept—Rachel embraced. She bled—Rachel repaired. She faltered—Rachel shushed. She stopped—Rachel smiled.

Very quickly she began to understand the selfishness of her love and wondered why Rachel even stayed with her for so long. Everything she's done has mainly been for herself. The divorce, putting distance between them, the publicity stunt, ignoring all the signs of Rachel's health. All these years and she's still wrestling with her demons.

Quinn turned around when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Kurt. "Let's go get something to eat. Your mom said you haven't eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry. I'm just gonna wait." She answered dryly.

"Come on, Quinn," he stood, and Quinn nearly gawked at how transformed he seemed from his regular features, he looked like a happy child. "When Rachel's out from surgery your mom will call."

"I want to be here when she comes out."

Kurt's gaze closed, and while his smile remained, it had lost some of its warmth. "Quinn, you need to eat."

"I can't go out anyway," she said. "There's paparazzi everywhere."

"We'll go to the cafeteria."

For a moment, she focused on his chin and squelched an irrational urge to slap him. "Kurt, I really don't—"

"What's Rachel going to say when she finds out you haven't eaten all day?" He was hurt by the rejection.

"Oh yeah, use Rachel to get me to do things." This time, beneath the wry humor lurked a faint warning.

"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, Quinn. You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself or you can come with me and eat _while_ feeling sorry for yourself. At least you're not watching horrible television."

His relentless calm began to irritate her, largely because she was anything but calm. They stared at each other for a while, in a silent battle for something she didn't quite understand. When she spoke, she tried not to raise her voice, "Kurt, just leave me alone, okay? I don't want to go. I don't want to eat. I want to sit and wait."

"You're scared and feeling out of control, and you don't like it. I understand that." He hesitated, then gripped her shoulders with the tip of his fingers, as if afraid she was going to slap him if he pushed for deeper contact. "How is sitting here going to help with anything? You're worrying yourself into despair."

She stood up in an effort to redirect her restlessness and irritation. Kurt moved several steps away from her. "Fine. You're paying."

"Says the girl who's about to make millions." She heard him mumble before following him to the cafeteria.

Quinn wasn't much for hospital food. All this only reminded her of the horrible accident when all she ate for weeks was hospital food. It seemed as though she hasn't left the hospital since that fateful day. There was that same smell, the same noises from the monitors that kept her up at night, the same forlorn faces, the same conversations, the same chaos day in and day out: Nurse I need help I peed blood, nurse can you get me a bed pan, where's the doctor he said he was going to see me soon, can I use the phone to call my husband, I can't feel my legs, I think I'm having a heart attack.

Kurt did most of the talking while she sat and ate ash in the form of potatoes and chicken. Kurt told her that Rachel will get better soon. He said that once Rachel wakes up everyone will leave them alone and they can have some quality time together. He told her that Rachel will get through this because she's strong and she's got a lot of support. All this is just going to take some time. Time heals all wounds.

The funny thing with time is, it flows neither fast or slow in a landscape of pain, and there is never any way to prepare for the moment when your life shifts from comfort to discomfort. Someone once told her that, _time is merely_ _nature's way of making sure everything doesn't happen at once_. Yet, if you had taken Rachel Berry to the carnival on that summer evening, watched the way her eyes lit up, alleviate her nerves after the rides, played the carny games and shot the ducks, won her a teddy bear which earned you a humongous hug, walked barefoot along the pier, hand in hand, took her home and snuggled in her arms, you would want it all to happen again and again, all the time, forever.

She knew clearly that when time is not right and there is nothing in the world she can do to push things; there is nothing for it but to sit through the discomfort, obeying a timetable not her own. And then it strikes her that patience is the most difficult thing in the world.

Quinn sighed, pushing the half-finished plate of food away from her. "This tastes horrible. I think you should get me something better."

"And how would I do that, Quinn? You're not allowed out of this hospital." He said, pointing the fork at her.

Maybe it was only the lingering film of tears, or her sudden weariness, but she thought she glimpsed a hint of sympathy in his eyes that, oddly enough, left her feeling safe and on solid ground for the first time that day. "Thanks," she said softly. "For being here."

"We're friends," he returned her smile. "Besides, we New Yorkers have to stick together." His phone buzzed and for a moment she thought it might be news about Rachel. A few seconds later he said, "It's Blaine. He's on his way."

"Oh, joy." She said sarcastically. "You're not going to act all gay in front of me as punishment for earlier, are you?"

"You and Rachel are gay enough for all of us."

When he asked whether anyone else knew they were in the hospital, she said she told Santana who in turn will have no doubt told Brittany and Puck, who will then have told everybody else. Then they spoke about the publicity stunt which proved to be a very delicate subject and it only raised her guilt levels. It was good to talk to someone. She told him about their arguments, how Rachel said she was obnoxious and arrogant and how Rachel wanted to break up with her. Kurt didn't judge, he didn't point out any flaws in the situation, he listened patiently, and then she ended up blurting out all her bottled-up feelings.

"I don't know why I agreed to do it in the first place. What the hell was I thinking? We have enough problems to deal with which have yet to be solved and I'm prancing my fake relationship in her face without any concern for her feelings. Of course she was going to agree to it—"

Blaine arrived and Quinn continued to talk.

"—Rachel's amazingly patient when it comes to my needs and extremely supportive. I mean, I'm always the one running away from my problems and she's there just waiting for me to cool down and come back to talk about it. Who does that, Kurt? Oh, hi Blaine when did you get here? After all these years I still don't understand why she puts up with me. I called her selfish after the divorce when in fact, _I'm_ the selfish one for getting the divorce. What the hell was I even thinking? She needs me and I'm fucking running away from everything. Fuck, it took me a year to realize this."

Kurt and Blaine stared at her for a few minutes, completely shocked by her outburst and possibly scared of what she was going to do with her frustration. She hadn't wanted to burst like that. The moment she started she didn't know how to stop and she couldn't figure out a way to wiggle out of the motion, for once she couldn't stop her mouth from moving. It was as if she were standing outside her own body, watching in fascinated horror as she plunged toward a certain crash-and-burn.

All she had to do was shut her mouth and pretend she enjoyed Kurt and Blaine's company—which under any other circumstance she would—but the words wouldn't stop tumbling out. It was like in _Mean Girls_. What was that phrase? _Word vomit_. And what a horrible way to vomit it. Everyone was staring at her.

"I've never heard you talk so much, Quinn." Blaine said.

"She's been around Rachel too long. It was bound to catch on." Kurt said.

"Do you think she's calm enough now?" Blaine asked.

"I don't think so. Maybe another two minutes." Kurt answered.

"Should we comfort her or something?" Blaine asked.

"I feel like she's going to blow up again." Kurt replied.

"I'm sitting right now." She leaned back in her chair and examined her two casually smiling friends while she felt like crawling out of her own skin.

Kurt reached over to place his hand on hers. "She loves you. That's why she's stayed."

"She can do better." Hot with humiliation, Quinn stared at their joined hands.

"I think her wanting to break up with you must have triggered something," Kurt speculated. "She's never made a threat like that before, has she?"

"No," she said honestly. Her little adrenalin rush rapidly fading. Kurt's hand on hers was gentle. "It was always me." She caught his wary expression and added, "I don't mean I make threats to break up with her every week, geez. I'm just saying that this is the first time she's ever actually said it."

Blaine leaned his arms on the table. She caught a wisp of men's cologne and it hurt her nose. "You'll work this out. You always have."

She liked Blaine, she really did, but sometimes she wished he had better things to say rather than the obvious. Of course they were going to work it out, they were _Quinn and Rachel_. What she needed was advice. How to make it better. How to stop running. How to take away Rachel's pain. How to fight her demons. Where was Santana when she needed her? Talking to two gay men about lesbian problems is hopeless. They might be gay but they still function like men—emotions and all.

Saved by her phone, she answered it in one ring and was told by her mother Rachel's back in her room. They made their way up to the fourth floor. She saw Hiram pacing back and forth outside Rachel's room talking on his cell phone. When he saw them he waved and gestured it was safe to go inside.

Quinn lit up like a Christmas tree when Rachel smiled at her. It was Christmas in January for all she knew. She held Rachel tight in a hug, heat radiated towards her. Rachel's hair was wet, she must have taken a shower. She could feel Rachel's soft hospital gown against her skin, and the unmistakable daisy scent chased away all the hospital smell. She heard nothing but Rachel's breathing, felt nothing but heat. Her thoughts began to warp in that sensory delirium. The thought flickered through her mind that she wished she had a machine that could measure her skin temperature. What extraordinary level would it register?

She felt the bed railing between them. It was beginning to hurt her stomach muscles. A voice inside her said, Stop hugging and push the railing down. Clearly it would have been more comfortable, but sometimes comfort is not the point.

"Do they always hug for this long?" She heard Blaine's voice in the corner.

"You should've been here earlier. They were communicating with their fingers." Kurt said.

When she finally pulled back she saw the look of dreaming and surrender in Rachel's eyes.

With her body still close against Rachel's, she stared directly into her brown eyes, so close she could see the rim of black around her irises. "What did they say about the procedure? What did they do?"

"I was under anesthetic." She answered. "But he said if all goes well I can go home tomorrow."

"When did you have time to take a shower?" Quinn asked, examining her wet hair.

"I've been alone for half an hour. You all left me!" Rachel's eyes moved along her neck, and her hand beneath Quinn's went taut. She wondered whether Rachel was thinking something sexual.

Quinn tried to defend herself. "I didn't want to leave. Kurt made me leave—I thought your dads were staying."

"Nobody cares about me." Rachel said lightheartedly, slightly pouting.

"So first they hug for what seems like an hour, and then they ignore everyone else and have their own conversations?" Blaine asked Kurt, puzzled.

"Welcome to the Quinn and Rachel show."

"Blaine!" Grinning expectantly, Rachel got off the bed and hugged him. "I haven't seen you for—how long has it been?"

"Months!" His smile was just as wide.

"Oh, don't worry about me, Rachel," Kurt said, crossing his arms and pouting. "I'm just your best friend but my boyfriend deserves the first hug. That makes sense."

Rachel laughed and hugged him just as tightly. She held his face in her hands. "You look like you haven't slept."

"Worrying about you too much." He answered.

The doctor, whatever his name was, changed Rachel's medication to Fioricet. She described its effects like this—Not only do I feel sublimely good, but that I feel I can, methodically, and efficiently get all my tasks done. I can hear my thoughts again, I can focus on things and know what I'm supposed to do. I don't have the feeling as though I'm about to lose everything. On Valium, my consciousness was made heavy by exhaustion because Valium eased the pain, it didn't prevent the blackouts. My mind continued to feel cloudy at times. This just feels like—_wow_. I feel _normal_.

And that was that. Rachel finally got a diagnosis. It wasn't a brain tumor. It wasn't an aneurysm. There was no known cure but it wasn't deadly either. At least Quinn didn't view it as life threatening. This she could handle. She could make sure Rachel doesn't _think_ too much about a photograph or a letter, she could tell Rachel the correct memory so she won't have to conjure one.

Life changing, as they say.

She needed to take stock of her life. She felt completely amazed by her sudden emptiness. But the good thing about emptiness is just how much space there is. So she made a decision to first and foremost protect Rachel within that space. She planned to get everything sorted out and organized. Clean. She could consolidate everything and be a normal person—as normal as _normal_ would allow her to be. No more running. Time to battle her demons. Rachel's health is the first thing on her new plan; it was simple and non-problematic. If she has Rachel, she has a future. Rachel _is_ her vision of the future.

Quinn was brought out of her thoughts when Mark appeared at the door. Not at all happy with his sudden appearance, she glanced down at Rachel who refused to meet her eyes and had now moved a few inches away from her.

"Oh my _God_," Kurt squealed. "You're—you're—Oh my God!"

"Alright, Kurt," Quinn said patting him on the shoulder. "Calm down, he's just a person."

Kurt ignored her and turned to Blaine. "That's Mark Morley! I can't believe I've completely forgotten we have a friend who knows him."

Blaine seemed so unsure of what to say he just nodded. Quinn told Rachel she'll be right back and headed out the door to meet him. She could hear Kurt continuing to ramble on in his star-stricken haze. She heard things like, he's so handsome, I wonder if Quinn will give me his number, do you think he could be gay, he looks a bit gay with his tight jeans and shirts that are a size too small.

"What do you want?" She asked him as soon as she closed the door.

"Whoa, okay, not happy to see me." He paused at the glare in her eyes and continued a moment later, "Well, I heard you were in hospital and you know, me being the boyfriend and all—"

"About that, that's over now." Number two on her new plan was to get rid of Mark. Well, technically the publicity stunt. Mark and the stunt just so happens to be a packaged deal.

Startled, he said, "We didn't agree on that."

Quinn briefly closed her eyes in frustration. "Mark, you're a great guy. If you look pass the arrogance and smugness, you're really nice, and I like hanging out with you, but it's uncomfortable because I know you want to sleep with me. And I'm just _really_ gay and I love Rachel."

"And you decided this—what? Just now?"

"Today, actually. I've sort of had an epiphany."

Mark started to sit down, expecting her to do the same, but when she didn't, he straightened again, not sure what to do. The silence stretched on. Quinn knew she was being too forward. During their time together she never spoke about her emotions, or anything related to _emotions_. It was just work and the occasional friendly chatter. Being with him is just sadness. Being away from Rachel leaves her with a vast void, an emptiness, needing to be filled. And it's when she's back in Rachel's arms she feels complete.

She had to take stock of her life and get rid of all unnecessary baggage. "I'm sorry," she said. "Well, not really. But I mean, you know, I had fun."

"That's the most words you've ever spoken to me in a minute." He joked.

"That's been happening a lot today." She mumbled to herself, remembering the incident at the cafeteria.

His mouth flattened slightly and he nodded in understanding. "Have you called your publicist?"

She shook her head. "I'll probably do that tomorrow. Are there still paparazzi out there?"

"Yeah, they're lined up. It's crazy." He scratched the back of his neck. "Be careful out there, Quinn. I think you should call your manager before you go home so she can figure out a way to help you out."

She hugged him, her mother taught her that cruelty is inexcusable. Back inside, the look on Rachel's face, Quinn could see the sting. It was like Quinn had been hit with some sort of hard ornament: She could see it sail toward her. But she didn't flinch, didn't move. Then crunch. Her body catapults. And it shocked her almost into tears.

Her adrenalin had nowhere to go, so she sat beside Rachel and paid partial attention to the conversations around her, waiting for everyone to go home so they could be alone. She knew that she knows nothing of the future. All she knows is hope. When she looked at the present there's only Rachel, and it made her toes tingle and the smell of Rachel's fragrance made her feel that she can live once again. They're exactly where they're meant to be, in the right place at the right time.

Later, much later, the night shift nurse appeared at the door and informed them visiting hours were over. Their conversation just had to wait until tomorrow.

One by one each hugged and said goodbye to Rachel with her dads saying they'll visit her again tomorrow and that hopefully she'll feel well enough to be discharged. Judy was waiting for Quinn outside and they had about two minutes alone so she decided to make the best of those two minutes.

"Rach, there's a lot we need to talk about—"

"Yes, there is—"

"I've sort of had an epiphany today which I really want to tell—"

"I can't wait to hear it."

"But it has to wait so I'm just going to tell you I love you and kiss you for now."

And she did. Her thumb tracing along Rachel's cheek bones. Their kiss wasn't sleek and sophisticated, just a lot of heat and urgent need, like teenagers making out in the backseat. Not that it was any disappointment. Rachel's lips are addictive, she kissed like a dream, and right now Rachel's hand was sliding under her shirt finding the hot spots. Quinn pulled away instantly.

"Rach," she breathed out.

"Stay."

"I can't." Quinn placed light kisses on her neck.

"You stayed last time." Rachel said, holding onto the back of her head to keep her in place.

"I was a patient last time."

"Well then, faint."

She laughed. "I'm not going to do that."

A knock on the door interrupted them and the nurse said, "Visiting hours are over." She smiled sweetly with a bit of a twinkle in her eyes. Quinn nodded in acquiescence and turned back to Rachel who said,

"Maybe you should flirt with her."

"Excuse me?"

"Seriously," her grin was wide. "She'll let you stay if you flirt with her. Maybe ask her out on a date."

"She's not even—"

"She is _so_ gay, Quinn. The way she looked at you? Gay."

"Rachel, she's a professional. She's not—Don't give me _that_ look—"

She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. Rachel crushed their lips together, completely arousing and her mind drifted into the familiar territory of seduction. Rachel knew exactly what to do with her tongue, it was silently pleading with Quinn to do as she asked. She was mindless of anything else but that tongue and those strokes and the way Rachel bit her bottom lip and pulled her closer until she had no choice but to put one knee on the bed and oh God Rachel's hand was under her shirt moving upwards to run her thumb along her nipple and she is just so _whipped_—

"Okay, fine, I'll go flirt with her." Quinn said, flushed and breathing heavily. "One condition—"

"I won't mention it again—"

"Never again."

Rachel had worked her up to a state of such arousal she had to take a minute or two to calm down. She was shocked to see everyone waiting for her once she opened the door. There was a knowing look and she blushed from their intense stares. She told them that she planned to stay and wait for her manager in order to escape the paparazzi outside, Judy argued that they could help her escape and she argued that she'd rather wait for professional bodyguards and they stood there arguing until Judy saw a glint in Quinn's eyes and smiled mischievously. Great, now her mother knows she's up to something.

"Behave yourself, Quinn." Judy said, kissed her on the cheek and left with the Berrys, Kurt and Blaine.

The nurse—her name tag said, Registered Nurse, Amanda Childs—stared at her from behind the reception desk. She didn't look away when Quinn met her gaze. She was pretty, tall, pale, black hair, black eyes, though she seemed about thirty. They smiled at each other. She was reading a book called _The Snow Leopard_, and that was reason enough to start talking.

"That's a great book." Quinn started. How the hell do you even flirt?

She studied the cover. "Just started. Care you tell me what happens?"

Quinn shivered from her seductive tone. Nowhere near the same way Rachel makes her shiver. This one was more like a lightning bolt. "So, _Amanda_, I was wondering if—"

"Dinner?"

Wow, okay, we're already not compatible because you can't do that thing Rachel does where she finishes my sentences _correctly_. "I was actually wondering if it'll be okay for me to stay the night." She imagined she was talking to Rachel and dazzled a smile.

It seemed to have done the trick. Amanda perked in her position. "Miss Fabray, I really can't do that."

"You can call me Quinn. That makes me sound old."

"I'm sorry, Quinn. If I allow you to do that then I have to allow every other family member to."

Quinn went in for the kill, she didn't want to drag it out any longer. This was hopeless and she had a perfect girlfriend waiting for her. "How about if I take you out to dinner?"

"You're serious?"

"Of course."

"But it's in exchange for letting you stay the night?"

"Well—"

"I really can't do that, Quinn. It's a policy in every hospital."

This woman was a hard nut to crack. She decided to give up. It just felt awkward. "You know what, I'm sorry. This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have asked. It's your job and I know it's a policy."

Satisfied with her apology, she moved away but Amanda grabbed onto her wrist. She walked around the desk, stepping into Quinn's personal space and whispered, "My manager is in the room behind me." Amanda slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "Don't leave the room until tomorrow morning and lock the door."

Quinn discreetly cleared her throat so Amanda could release her hand. She smiled ruefully and stepped back. "Call me." Before Quinn had a chance to register what had just happened, she spoke again, "Are you and Rachel..."

How to answer this question? "Oh, um... we're—"

"I shouldn't have asked. I read about your divorce. It's good to know that you've maintained a friendship, although kind of weird that you're still so close."

Yeah, _weird_. She preferred _one of a kind_.

She felt like cheering but it stayed inside. It was time for the decorum and she lingered her hand on Amanda's shoulder as a way of flirting (that's part of flirting, right?), said thank you and left at a moderate pace, but with a spring in her step. Rachel looked up with a hopeful smile when she came in.

"How'd it go?"

She tried to play a little joke. She pulled a sad face and shook her head. "I can't stay." But a smile broke out on her before she could even finish saying the words. She held up the piece of paper, "Just joking. She gave me her number."

Rachel grabbed it out of her hand in quick speed and tore it up. "You won't be needing that." She squealed and put her arms around Quinn's neck. "I can't believe it worked."

"What? You had no faith in me?"

"I didn't think you still had it in you." She laughed at the faint frown on Quinn's face, then got on her tip toes to plant a kiss on her forehead. "You really need to shower, Quinn."

She had another epiphany in the shower. The color all around was silver, the temperature was close to scalding. The noise was deafening but cleared her mind. The thing is, running makes her feel on top of the world. She's always wanted—no, _needed_—control. When events slow down and the emotional stuff happens, it makes her angry and confused and nothing is right.

She's heard that this is called denial. It makes sense. The brain shuts down at times of true crisis, and nothing but the locus of hilarity (or is it hysteria?) is active. Nothing could've stopped her, not even the depression and the confusion hovering off-screen, back in New York where Rachel was. She went to L.A and then further north and around the world. She plunged herself into her career and worked hard to expand it as if it offered greater absences from life. She delved into a relationship with Mark knowing clearly the problems it would cause. The explosion and disintegration of her relationship with Rachel was briefly tempered by the alien hypnosis of admiration from another.

Nothing at all seemed strange during this time. Since everything was new, everything seemed correct.

When she came out, Rachel was smiling at her from the bed. It was as if the very color that came into her cheeks was flooding into her soul as well. "You can wear that if you want," she said pointing to the pajamas she laid out for Quinn. "Or you could sleep naked."

She went for the former. They needed to talk. When she got on the bed, Rachel laughed a low, easy sound that sent goosebumps rippling all over her. She slid one arm under Rachel's neck and her breath caught briefly. She was fighting the urge to not explore Rachel's body—even after five years, she still can't get enough.

"I've been thinking," Rachel said, in a low, chirpy tone. "We should see a therapist."

"Like a relationship therapist?"

Rachel nodded after glancing at the ceiling and back to her again. "After the accident we never worked through our problems. We were apart for a long time, and when we saw each other again and sparks flew we picked up from there. We suppressed a lot of issues."

"I know." Quinn said, her voice sharper than she had meant it to be. "We'll do therapy then."

A look of surprise crossed her face and then she gave a philosophical shrug. "That must have been some epiphany, Quinn. I thought I would've had to twist your arm to agree with me."

Quinn missed Rachel's energy and quick smile, those expressive eyes and her blunt honesty. It still surprised her how easy and comfortable she felt in Rachel's arms after all they've been through, all the tension and arguments. So comfortable and easy her guard slips every time. Rachel makes her think, and for her—a doer not a thinker—sometimes it wasn't always a good thing. Because right now she's thinking of all the guilt and problems she's caused due to her selfishness.

Taking in a deep breath to clear her head, she said, "Rach, I'll do anything, okay. I'm _so_ sorry for everything. I'll stop running. I'm not going anywhere, anymore. Ever. So you're basically stuck with me for the rest of your life and I'm going to follow you everywhere like really everywhere and just never leave your side."

They stared at one another. Quinn searched Rachel's face for emotions and she only sensed a playful gleam in her eyes. Quinn pulled her closer and said, "I mean it, Rach. It's been a year and it's the worst year ever. We've never been this out of sync. Back then we were apart but we understood each other and talked and laughed. I miss that. I miss you. And I'll work through our issues any way to get it back."

"You know, Quinn," Rachel said with a wicked grin. "It took you a whole year to talk about your emotions. I've never heard you talk—"

"Alright, I get it. Today I've just been like a talking machine. Why does everyone have to point it out?" She said without menace, but it was quiet and serious. While Quinn could accept her mistakes and failures, she absolutely loathed regrets. Losing Rachel would be a regret she'll never recover from. "Rachel, I can't lose you. Kurt cleverly pointed out today that you wanting to break up with me hit a nerve and he's right in every way."

Rachel gave her a speculative glance, part curiosity, part understanding. A scant second later, Rachel's gaze slowly tracked downward over Quinn's low neckline. She could almost imagine Rachel's fingers touching her with the same lingering slowness as her gaze, and she grew warm again under her scrutiny. Then, Rachel squeezed her arm. "We've both been really selfish. I didn't want to break up with you. It was a threat to get you to react in some way. And the fact that it has to lead to an argument and a break up for us to finally talk about our issues is a sign we need professional help."

Slowly, Rachel's words sank in and she relaxed into the mattress. "I wholeheartedly agree."

Rachel's hand lingered in her hair and then slid down to cup her cheek. "I wonder why that nurse agreed to go on a date with you. She must have read about Mark."

"She probably overheard our conversation." Seeing Rachel's confused expression, she said, "Oh, I called it off. I'm gonna call my publicist tomorrow and let him know."

"Oh, are you—"

"Yeah, I'm sure. The movie did great at the box office."

Silence, then Rachel gave a hearty laugh. "I'm still astonished the nurse let you stay. Was it too cruel of us? It's not like you're going to call her."

"I can't now since you tore up her number."

"I wonder why she even agreed."

"You think she's after my money?"

"I highly doubt it's your charm."

Quinn glanced at her and she knew they were thinking the same thing: they had a future. They were no longer in that dark unease of burnt-loyalties and remembrances of past things. There was a future beyond this hospital, a future full of recovery and hope, without the medication and most of all, without guilt. A future where they grew old together.

A slow smile curved her mouth. "I charmed you into marrying me, didn't I?"

"Hardly, Quinn," her eyes laughing. "You must have put me under some spell."

"Hocus pocuses are your specialty. I'm just skilled in the art of seducing Rachel Berry."

Rachel stared at her dreamily, grinning. They lay there sprawled together. The light from the moon poured through the venetian blinds and Rachel's head shimmered and disappeared in the glow. The room seemed alive. She felt suspended in time, almost content.

"Quinn, I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Did we have sex on top of a hill?"

Quinn turned to face her, twirling her hair. "You remembered that?"

"Whenever I have a blackout I get random memories. Today it's been the days leading up to our wedding." Rachel's blush was visible in the dim light, and meeting her eyes, memories of the penis drawing on the stone came rushing back to her. She tried not to laugh but failed miserably. Rachel's eyes narrowed, "Why are you laughing?"

Rachel's face went serious and stern and Quinn's inner alarm went off and she stopped laughing just as quickly as it started. "I was just thinking about the penis drawing."

"Was that what set it off?" Rachel murmured.

"Set what off?"

"Your hormones. Seeing the penis."

"No!" She squealed. She didn't like the way her voice went a little high.

"How am I supposed to know? We were talking and the next minute you devoured me."

"I'll devour you right now."

"Is there any place your willing to not have sex?"

As Rachel spoke, her breath stirred the hair over her ear, and it was all she could do to not shiver. Against the satin of her nightshirt, her nipples tightened with an almost painful ache of need. She was suddenly very aware there were less than two items of clothing between them.

"I have yet to discover any place not worth trying." Then she leaned in and kissed her.

Rachel returned the kiss. She slid her hand across Rachel's waist and up her broad back, snapping her bra open, delighting in the play of her muscles. Rachel flinched for a millisecond and resumed kissing her. When she felt Rachel's tongue, she sighed, tasting in her hot warmth. Quinn shifted on top of her and had expected a protest. When non was forthcoming, she moved down to suck on the delicate spot beneath Rachel's ear, biting and nibbling on it. She stopped when Rachel let out a loud moan.

"You have to be quiet, Rach, or I'm going to put a sock in your mouth."

"Are you going to tie me up and spank me in the process too?"

"We tried that a few times, you know. You enjoyed it."

Rachel opened her mouth in surprise and Quinn captured her lips. She took her time, reveled in the luxury of Rachel's body, being reminded of the first time they had seen each other naked and how she felt when their naked bodies came together, the way her heart beat seemed to stop and start again every few seconds.

Under her fingers she could feel the play of Rachel's muscles as she moved and the way Rachel's hand was warm, scratching her own skin. She loved the scent of her, the lingering daisies, the faint tang of perspiration. It smelled so earthy and so Rachel and so arousing, and she had to stop for a brief moment to take a deep breath before sliding her hand through the fabric of Rachel's underwear. She was never one for damaging items of underwear, for being irresponsible with clothes, so she forced herself to pull apart for a few seconds until they were both naked.

Quinn's eyes never strayed away from Rachel's. She watched the brown orbs turn grey and wet, mouths close, breaths heaving. Rachel scratched Quinn's back hard, then squeezed and then her thighs shivered and she shuddered a few times. Her jaw unclenched. Quinn came a few seconds afterwards. She had no idea what state she was in except it was exhilarating. She untensed and fell beside Rachel. They lay like a statue, hardly breathing. Quinn felt like she was in a trance.

Completely immobilized and out of breath, Rachel said,

"I love you a lot."

"Is that all?" Quinn said, with the little strength she had left. "I _really_ love you."

"No, 'really' and 'a lot' mean the same thing. I just said 'I love you a lot', that _means_ 'I really love you'."

"Okay then," Quinn smiled. "In that case, I guess I really_, really_ love you."

Rachel chuckled, placing one last kiss to her lips before closing her eyes. Quinn did the same and fell asleep with the feel of Rachel's breath on her shoulder.

A strip club appeared before her. Tiffany's Dolls, the sign said. A naked woman flowed across the runway. She was wearing a bedsheet. The sheet blew all around her like a sail. Where was she? New York. Tiffany's Dolls. Strip club. The things that visit her when she closed her eyes.

The strip club was pure money but no product, nothing was manufactured there but hope. Or rather, hope becoming desire, desire becoming yearning, yearning becoming this desperate, this desperate... She remembered the spangled patterns, the warmth of the vodka down her throat, Puck giving her money, Santana cheering at the women that walked pass, Brittany cheering just as loud. The windows were black. She was somehow lost in all the light. She kept looking at the time. She kept checking her phone for text messages and missed calls. At 10:00 p.m. she called Rachel.

Are you drunk yet?

I miss you. What are you doing?

Nothing.

Nothing? I don't think it's fair that I'm out and you're home. I think I'm going to—

Quinn, stay out. Enjoy it—

But I'm not—Rach, the contract was stupid. This kind of makes me uncomfortable.

All those naked women making you uncomfortable?

They're not you.

Baby, enjoy it okay. I'm fine at home, honestly. I'm going to take a bath and then I have to read over the script changes for_ Avenue Q_.

You're not lying, right? About not having fun?

No, Quinn, I'm not lying. This is your last chance at independence. We're getting married in two weeks and then you're stuck with me for life. Enjoy it. I love you.

Quinn spent most of the night admiring Brittany and Santana's relationship, how they were so effortlessly comfortable with one another touching another woman. If Rachel was touching another woman the way Santana was touching the woman in front of her, Quinn would no doubt have snapped. And she couldn't enjoy the night the way her friends were. Puck seemed content watching the strippers modelling in front of them, sitting back in his seat acting completely at home, putting a few dollar bills in their bras and underwear.

She had never realized how alert people were at midnight, and yet she felt flat. She figured once she had a bit of alcohol in her she would have fun, but of course when your mind is elsewhere and you only want to see a 5'2" brunette naked, you tend to skip the drunk part and go straight to unhinged. It was loud and crowded. She could feel the future exploding upon her. Nothing mattered. She left her friends and went home at 12:30 a.m.

Quinn, you're home early!

It was boring.

Were you even trying to have fun?

I don't know how you can try to have fun when you don't feel like having fun.

Where's everyone?

I left them there—

That's irresponsible—

They can take care of themselves.

Now that you've had the experience of a strip club, I think it should be my turn when I turn twenty-one, don't you think?

No.

You got the chance—

Santana made me—

She did not hold a gun to your head.

Santana and a gun are one and the same, Rach. She could shoot you without any warning.

It's still unfair that you have all the fun.

When you turn twenty-one I'll strip for you. How's that?

Why don't you strip for me now?

In Rachel's arms, life had a purpose again. There was a crispness to existence. Life seemed to unfold around her, spending time with Rachel drove her near crazy. Every minute was delicious. Another way of putting it is that she's merrily, _merrily_, in the heartfelt embrace of inert splendor.

Rachel Berry makes the frenzied patterns of the blood vessels in the center of her heart dance.

* * *

><p><strong>Note: Rachel's condition is not real. I Googled fancy words and made it up. Whether it actually exists or not I have no idea. Again, thanks for all the reviews and all that stuff! You're all awesome. :)<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

_In Greek mythology_  
><em>It's said that humans were originally created with four arms<em>  
><em>Four legs, and a head with two faces<em>  
><em>Fearing their power<em>  
><em>Zeus split them into two separate beings<br>__Condemned them to spend their whole lives in search of their other halves__  
><em>

_—_Plato's: The Symposium

**•••**

**February 20th, 2017**

It started a week ago when Quinn was eating dinner alone, hopping channels and restricting herself to the solitary glass of wine. There was something saddening about eating alone, hunched over on the couch in the apartment and for the first time she felt a rush of despair and loneliness. Being alone suddenly felt like walking on a frozen river; there is always that danger that you'll plunge through. And when the ice finally did creak, so intense and panicking was the sensation that she had to stand for a moment to catch her breath. She instantly called Rachel.

"What's up?" Rachel said, concern in her voice.

"I have a question," she said with her eyes closed, trembling. "I think it's crazy you live alone."

"O—kay?"

"I mean you've been here at my place most nights."

"I don't have to be."

"No, I want you to be."

"Quinn, are you..."

"What?"

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

Quinn smiled, feeling a sense of déjà vu. This was exactly the same way she had proposed to Rachel. Through the phone. Lack of sentiment in every way. Quinn was in New Haven at the time and had been missing Rachel too much. It can't even be classified as a proposal, more a suggestion, Hey Rachel let's get married, you live too far away from me. And she found herself repeating a similar phrase. "Let's move in. You live too far away from me."

"We're in the same city, Quinn."

"It's not close enough."

"Let me think about it."

Quinn had expected a yes. "What's there to think about?"

"I don't know. _Living together_."

"We've lived together once."

"I hardly recall it happening."

"Well, it happened and we got along extremely great. Surprisingly. Besides, you'll be saving lots of money."

"And where will you take your other girlfriends, Quinn?" She teased, a warm giggle.

"We'll go to hotels in the afternoon."

And it was settled, just like that. Except, Quinn hadn't expected to be wrangled into packing all of Rachel's belongings for her while she's been off gallivanting somewhere catching up with her Broadway and college friends for the past few days. She figured since she had purposefully left Rachel alone in high school to pack for NYADA, and again in college when they decided to get an apartment together in New York, karma was back to haunt her again. Rachel's belongings had accumulated substantially.

After two days of non-stop hard work and without the slightest possibility of thank you sex in the near distant future, the bedroom now contained nothing but the bed, an open suitcase and seven or eight cardboard boxes, two of which were labelled, 'Rachel 1' and 'Rachel 2'. The last of Rachel's possessions, the boxes contained notebooks, letters, wallets of photographs, and she carried them to the living room to spend the rest of the afternoon going through memory lane and in the process sorting the meaningless ephemera-ancient bank statements, receipts, old take-away menus, all of which she stuffed into a black bin-liner—from the stuff Rachel would want to keep and the stuff to be held in storage.

The way the material had been packed meant that she worked through it in reverse chronological order, starting with the fallout of their relationship, the first six months as a married couple, the wedding, back through college and eventually at the bottom of box 2 the beginning of their relationship. She ignored the divorce documents Russell had sent over and avoided reading Rachel's journals and notebooks of the time they were separated. It seemed unfair—she imagined Rachel peeking over her shoulder and scrambling to knock them out of her hand—so instead she concentrated on the other years.

She was about to open the honeymoon photo album when she heard the sound of jangling keys and the front door opened.

"Hey." Quinn said, a blush heating her face.

"Hi." Rachel murmured, one corner of her mouth turned into a smile and she bent down to kiss Quinn passionately, tasting richly of chocolate frosting.

"Are you wearing my clothes?" Quinn eyed her Louis Vuitton jacket. "I've been looking for that everywhere."

"You left it here, so technically it's mine." She peered inside the box. "What are you doing?"

"Going through some memories," she patted the floor beside her indicating for Rachel to take a seat. "Wanna go through it?"

Rachel laughed at Quinn's enthusiasm. "Is there a toy underneath all that pile?"

"You never know what we're gonna find."

The first six months of their marriage wasn't particularly eventful. After their honeymoon to Hawaii, they resumed working. Quinn started filming a low-budget independent film in San Francisco and commuted back and forth. Rachel made Quinn keep all the plane tickets and itineraries. Rachel was doing her last few shows for _Avenue Q_, and in the box contained an oversize farewell card from the cast and crew, some of whom have become her close friends. The photo album from their honeymoon saw them sun-baking, as well as snorkeling. There was a photo of Rachel sitting outside surrounded by lush tropical plants, and Quinn snapped it while she was taking a sip of her coconut drink.

Rachel pulled out the white rose-ribbon wedding album which had been placed on its side. It came attached with the guest book and wedding organizer. Not a single photo in that album caught Rachel in a bad angle. She looked like a Hollywood starlet, right down to her perfect eyebrows, cupid bow lips defined by dark lipstick, and finger-waved hair. In every picture, Quinn and Rachel were touching each other, both their faces displayed adoration, plain and simple.

Quinn remembered watching Rachel slowly approach her down the aisle. She felt her body temperature rising as she gazed at her—she had the strangest feeling that she had been waiting for that moment her whole life. She didn't know what made her legs move, but she made her way down the aisle to meet Rachel, like a leaf in the wind, swept along, carried away by forces stronger than she was.

**•••**

**May 24th, 2015**

Once in a while you find yourself beatifically propelled into the _Onrush of Life_ and the _Clarity of Things_ and the _Purposes of Purposes_. And there is nothing stopping you; it's one of those moments you've been waiting for your whole life. There were portals opening from Rachel's brain to the universe, there was such a purity in the light and the shape of clouds, everything was magnificent. Especially Quinn, standing in the center of the archway, a gigantic grin on her face. She was so enraptured by Quinn's beauty that she thought she was flying, and it filled her with a joy so all-encompassing she was afraid to blink, not wanting to break away from Quinn's potent stare.

"Rachel, are you ready?" Hiram said, staring down the aisle.

"No," she squeaked nervously. "Is this really happening?"

"It's happening." He said trying to sound calm, tears blurring in his eyes.

"Daddy, are you crying?"

"No," he said, just as quickly. "I don't cry." Rachel put her arms around him and held him close. She was about to talk when he said, "I watched you and Quinn talking last night on the front porch. You're so perfect for each other, laughing and whispering. You were just—_you_. Quinn loves you for being you and I know you've struggled with that in the past, and I was kind of afraid—"

"Daddy, you don't—"

"Rachel, let me say this." He glanced up and everyone was staring at them warily. "I probably should have said this yesterday."

"It's my wedding, they can wait." She said and held his hand.

He took as deep a breath as possible and continued, "As I was saying, I was kind of afraid you would change for someone, and you'd have to lose the diva attitude and start talking like a normal person at normal speeds. I see you with Quinn and you don't have to be anybody else. It's all I've wanted for you, Rachel."

She waited another beat wondering if he was going to say anything else. She saw his lips tremble and hugged him before he could crumple. "I don't want to make you cry so I'm going to say, let's get this wedding started before Quinn is overcome with panic-stricken anxiety and runs."

He laughed and held her a little longer. "Her sarcasm has rubbed off on you."

"So I've been told."

He held out his arm and Rachel took it, making their way down the aisle. The band began playing their wedding song and everyone stood from their seats, smiling at her, their faces filled with happiness and elation. She was vaguely aware of Judy and Frannie in the front row, Shelby holding Beth in her arms on the opposite section in the front row, Mr Schue beside them, Santana was making funny faces at her beside Quinn, but Rachel could see the happiness in her eyes. Brittany was happily clapping to herself and doing little jumps. Beneath her chest, her heart fluttered. Beneath her veil, her face flushed.

It wasn't until she met Quinn half way she was suddenly aware of everything around her again. Her knees suddenly buckled and Quinn caught her limp body in her arms, and then Quinn kissed her right there in the middle of the aisle. The feeling that was stirring inside of her was unlike anything she'd felt before. It was as though her soul had been asleep for hundreds of years, and was now slowly waking up to a world that was entirely made of sunlight.

Hiram cleared his throat rather loudly. Quinn pulled herself away, a glint in her eyes. Santana at the front said, "Oh come on, can't you two wait until _afterwards_ to make out?"

Quinn buried her face in Rachel's shoulder for a brief moment. She whispered, "I think I'm going to kill her."

Laughing, Rachel took her hand, and her skin tingled on the softest part of her palm. She sighed as she glanced down at their intertwined fingers, standing in their position at the center of the archway. She waved at her fathers who were both crying. Santana continued to make faces at her and Rachel thought about smacking her in her face with the bouquet and immediately giggled. Quinn's eyes widened and Rachel shook her head, squeezing her hand in reassurance.

As the ceremony began, Rachel's fingers around Quinn's tightened, she kept her gaze focused on the warmth of her hazel eyes. Perhaps it was the heart's way of reminding the mind that our true selves were revealed more in our eyes than in our words; whatever the reason, she felt the magnetism of Quinn's eyes, pulling her in and she was flooded with everything Quinn felt for her. The images flickered through her: the first time she saw Quinn at the riverbank, their first kiss, their first date, and the first time they had sex, which had been a failure but it showcased who they are as a couple—unconventional in every way, yet they were perfect because they loved each other and it was all that mattered.

She could see the desire—raw, hard physical need in Quinn's eyes. That made her want Quinn more, the feeling doubling in on itself over and over until she couldn't bear it one second longer—

Rachel took one step and kissed her, tenderly, the minister had been talking but she didn't care. Her skin was ravished by chills as Quinn trailed her hands up her arms then down her back until she reached her waist. Quinn tilted her head down slightly to accommodate with Rachel's height, and she pulled Quinn closer until their chests were pressed together.

Santana pried Quinn away from her and said, "You know, if we wanted to watch two lesbians making out most of us would be at home watching porn. Just hold it together, geez."

Rachel felt her cheeks flush red and Quinn shot her a glare. Quinn signaled the minister to continue, only to be interrupted by Puck, who stood from his seat. "I have something to say."

"I haven't asked whether anyone objects yet." The grumpy old minister said.

"I wasn't going to object." He merrily walked up to the front, pushed the minister to the side and stood between Rachel and Quinn.

Rachel said through gritted teeth, "Noah, what are you doing?"

"I have a speech I want to say."

"Can't you say it later?" Quinn's voice was heated, almost to the brink of wanting to hit him.

"Hey, you two are making out before you're supposed to. This isn't a typical wedding anymore. Now, listen, this is important." He reached into his pocket and unfolded the paper. Before speaking, he cleared his throat and eyed everyone nervously. "Hello everyone—"

Rachel rolled her eyes and grunted. "Noah—"

"Rachel, shush," he proceeded to read his speech. "I know you both told me not to say anything, but I feel like I have to—"

"No, you don't," Quinn interrupted. "Get off the..."

"Stop interrupted me," his voice loud enough to block out Quinn's last words. "It's a weird thing to do, reading a speech. I wanted to do something to mark the day and this seemed like the best thing to do."

"This isn't _your_ day, Puckerman." Quinn reached out to grab the paper in his hands but he was too quick.

"Quinn, just let him talk." Rachel said, eager to get on with the rest of the ceremony.

"Does this even have a point?" Santana said. "How come you get to speak and I don't?"

Puck ran out of patience and his gaze sharpened. "Alright, everyone needs to shut up and let me talk." He glared at Santana, then Quinn and Rachel, letting them know he wasn't happy with their behaviors. Obviously he had been preparing for this. "Right, what was I saying? Okay." He straightened his tie. "To be honest, I think I went a bit nuts when I found out in high school that you two were having sex—"

"Hey!" Rachel glared at him. "Noah, if you're—"

"What? You don't have sex?" He asked sheepishly. "By the looks of the way you make out, I'm pretty sure the sex is awesome."

"Oh my God," Santana shifted in discomfort, grimacing angrily. "What the hell kind of wedding is this?"

"Alright, alright," Hiram scowled from the front row. He clapped his hands together to get everyone's attentions. "Let's just let Noah get on with his speech. No more interruptions."

"Finally!" Puck said. He continued, "So as I was saying. I went a bit nuts. I mean, Quinn and Rachel in _love_? That's some crazy shit right there." He paused, expecting someone to interrupt. Everyone remained silent, listening intently. "Then I thought, this shit isn't go to last. Quinn is going to crack one day and go back to being straight and Rachel will go back to Finn and—" He quickly reverted his eyes away from Quinn's deadly glare at Finn's name. "—they'll be this annoying couple that don't make sense. Two years later, here we are. I've always had a soft spot for Rachel, she's my Jewish princess, and Quinn, well, I've always loved Quinn some way or another."

Puck turned to face Quinn. The scene seemed as though he were the minister and conducting the ceremony. "You're a great girl, Quinn, but sometimes you can be really selfish, and I'm ashamed to say that I didn't think you deserved Rachel. But then I see you together at parties, hanging out on a normal day, I even over-hear your phone calls, and Rachel always lit up and sparkled with you the way I've never seen her sparkle with anyone."

He turned to Rachel and she beamed at him. "Rach, I want to thank you. Quinn's smart and kind and funny, and she can be the loyalest—is that a word?" Rachel nodded. He thanked her with his eyes and continued, "She can be the loyalest person you'll ever meet. Since you've been in her life you've made her very, very happy. She glows, she just glows with all that shiniest and I'd like to thank you for taking care of her, especially after Beth, because I wasn't there to put her back together. So," he folded the paper and slipped it back into his pocket. "I want to say no hard feelings to either of you for having sex without asking me to join, and I wish you the best of luck for the rest of your lives."

Feeling a sudden swell of affection for Puck, Rachel instinctively looped her arms around his back, rubbed it and then kissed his cheek. "That was very sweet."

He embraced Quinn and then padded his way back to his seat. The minister resumed his position. Everyone was beginning to stir in their seats from the heat and the unexpected long ceremony. They were no longer filled with that happiness buzz people were supposed to get at weddings. And then the minister said,

"If anyone can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let them speak now." He didn't even wait a second before saying, "I now pronounce—"

"Rachel," Quinn said softly, stroking the palm of Rachel's hand with her fingertips. "I know we agreed no vows because you couldn't write any, but we'll—"

"We'll just make something up now." Rachel began to shake with anticipation and Quinn put her hands on either side of her shoulders. She said,

"This day, four years ago—"

"Three, actually."

"No, it wasn't. It was—"

"In 2012."

"Oh, okay," Quinn took a step closer. "This day three years ago, we promised each other that no matter what happens we'll get through it all. Today is basically a renewal of those promises." Quinn gave her a lazy grin, making her warm all over. "Rachel, I didn't decide to fall in love with you. It snuck up on me disguised as hatred—"

"And jealousy," she added with a faint smile. "You were jealous."

"I was not."

"That's okay, I know the truth."

Quinn exhaled an annoyed breath. She didn't argue and resumed talking. "When I broke up with you in high school, and we got back together a week later, I was so scared, more scared than I'd ever been. I thought for sure you'd never forgive me for leaving you. That day I came over and we watched—"

"_Funny Girl_ four times and you never complained." Rachel dropped her gaze to Quinn's breasts, pushed against the low neckline. She eyed it with appreciation and snapped her eyes up to meet Quinn's again. "I honestly thought you had been abducted."

"I was trying to be nice."

"I was testing your limits."

"Anyway," Quinn mumbled. "Ever since then you've never brought it up again. In all our years together. Nor did you ever bring up all the horrible things I did to you. You always knew whether I needed to be held or let me be. I don't know how you always know—"

"You're very easy to read. Or it could be because I've dissected your personality."

"You make everything easier."

Santana pushed the minister aside and stood between them. Now Rachel _really_ wanted to smack her with the bouquet. Instead, she said, "What is it now, Santana?"

"Can you two stop interrupting each other with your bizarre form of communication and just get on with it? I'm literally dying from dehydration and if I die here I'm going to haunt your children and your children's chidren and—"

Rachel ignore Santana's outburst. "Quinn," she was a little embarrassed at the hesitation in her voice. "I love you for many things, your beauty, nature, even your sarcasm. You've inspired and supported me as well, through everything. There have been times when I was frazzled and distracted because of shows and criticisms, you were always there to make me laugh and encourage me. Sometimes I honestly don't know what you see in me, or why you fell in love with me. You're my best friend as well as my lover and I don't know which side of you I enjoy most. And I promise, just as I promised you on this day two years ago, I'll always come back to you. We'll find our way back to each other."

Santana was using her new-found power in the center of the archway to her advantage. "Let's give these two a round—"

"We're not done, Santana," Quinn said cheerfully.

"You cannot be—"

"Rach, through your eyes I see the world differently." Quinn held her gaze, running her fingers along Rachel's forearm. It was a mystical experience. "You taught me how to feel good about myself, how to improve myself and how to think. You didn't just see the prettiest girl, the selfish girl that wanted everything. You love me for the person I am inside, and you saw something in me from beneath my flesh and bones, reached in and pulled me out. I'm extremely grateful for you every day and I promise that no matter what we'll always find our way back to each other."

When Quinn kissed her, a great love welled up within her, starting with a tingle in her feet. She knew they would be in it forever, that their love was infinite. They had found the secret glue that held all things together.

**•••**

There was a smirk on Rachel's face as she continued to flick through the wedding pictures. Brittany and Santana posing lovingly, the glee kids prancing around on the dance floor, Rachel's grandmother as well as Quinn's, their families gathering around to congratulate them. Photos of the garden which had been redecorated with lush green lawns and trimmings of magnificent topiary designs of lions and zebras. A giant red tent for the reception, with the words _Congratulations_ spelled out with roses.

Quinn's favorite photo of herself is the one where she is accepting a gift from Rachel's grandmother. For a week the lady had hardly spoken to Quinn and in fear, she thought she had done something wrong. All fears were squashed when she personally gave Quinn a blue music box clock shaped like a cottage and the two figurines were of herself and Rachel, which now hung on their wall. Well, now it was in one of the boxes, but soon it'll be back on the wall.

"Do we have a video?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah, but I took it."

Rachel pointed to a photo of Puck delivering his speech during the ceremony. "We have his speech on video, right?"

"Yeah, your dad recorded everything."

Quinn stared at the photo of the two of them kissing in front of the archway and felt her past and present dissolve into each other. What would her future with Rachel be like now? She had thought they would lead a simple life, and six months later they went through the biggest obstacle only to come out—stronger? Or simply _hoping_ for the best?

"Are you scared of the future?" Rachel asked, closing the album.

"Kind of."

Rachel murmured softly, "We're different now, aren't we? For starters, I didn't fall in love with you in two weeks, and we got to _really_ know each other before anything became serious."

Quinn reached out to stroke Rachel's hair, gently touching her face. Despite this new version of Rachel, there were still things about her that drove Quinn crazy. She was always so cheerful, no matter what was happening around her. She still hummed to herself while she walked down the street, in the car, doing chores, basically all the time, and she'd wave to strangers driving by in their cars. One time they were walking around New York and an old lady came out from her balcony to do something, and she waved at the stranger and said, It's such a great day. I hope _you're_ having a wonderful day.

Her legs wobbled, her eyes blurred, and her heart began beating funny inside her chest. Rachel had come back, and they had kept their promises.

"I have faith it'll all work out." Quinn paused a moment and then said, "Let's keep going."

Next item down memory lane was a box marked, 'Meetings with Quinn', containing metro tickets, folded menus of all the places they ate out together in New York and New Haven, and all the cities they went to. She opened an envelope and stumbled upon a photograph she had taken of Rachel during the winter of 2013. She lay half naked on Quinn's dorm room bed, legs crossed at the ankle, arms stretched above her head. The photo was taken on a drunken, amorous evening after watching _Titanic_ in French. Quinn had found the photo beautiful, but Rachel had snatched it from her and insisted she would destroy it.

Rachel gasped and took the photo out of her hand. "Oh my God! I look horrible."

"No, you don't." Quinn took it back. The fact that Rachel kept and secreted it suggested that Rachel had liked the photo more than she let on. "You said you were going to destroy this."

Rachel rested her chin on Quinn's shoulder, mumbling, "I secretly like it."

Quinn was slammed with nostalgia so frightening she had to take a moment to catch her breath. She sat in silence for a moment to gather herself.

"Quinn, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she kissed the top of Rachel's head. "Just—never mind."

They continued through college. There was an assortment of birthday announcements, wedding invitations, particularly Mr Schue's, all the tickets Rachel had gotten for Quinn to see her in _Dorothy of Oz _and _Avenue Q_, which was practically every single show. Rachel even kept all the receipts from the restaurants they went to afterward. At the end of the pile was an envelope of a series of letters from Phil which are so sexually fixated and pleading.

"Who the hell is this?" Rachel said, flabbergasted. "Why would I keep these?"

"Phil was the lightning director for _Avenue Q_. He had a crush on you." She hated him. She said with malice, "Phil the pervert. He'd slip these letters into your bag."

Rachel quickly folded it, putting it back in the envelope, and threw it in the bin. "We don't need that."

"Finally you come to your senses."

"Next."

There were playbills from the shows they went to, as well as a load of movie tickets, and Quinn recalled the dates and their activities throughout various ones. There was a selection of witless postcards Rachel had sent to her while she was on the road during _Avenue Q_—**San Francisco is MAD**—_I miss you, baby, wish you were here_. **Chicago THE BEST CITY IN AMERICA**—_Aren't the monkeys in the picture so cute? I miss you lots and lots!_ **Washington ROCKS**—_I come home next week! I hope you're not sneaking your other girlfriends into the apartment while I'm away. I love you.__  
><em>  
>Then they come across little notes Quinn had written to her while in college. Mostly post-it notes she left lying in the room. <em>Home is wherever I'm with you. I went out to get some snacks<em>. _You're so adorable while sleeping_, etc etc. Rachel's post-it notes were lengthy. _I am on my way to the grocery store to buy milk, eggs, sugar and maybe some tea. I'll be home late tonight, going to have dinner with the gang and walking around the city for a little while, _etc etc. There was a pile of old essays, study notes, scripts from some of her auditions.

Rachel grabbed the _Evita_ script, scanning it while chewing her bottom lip. "Do you think I would've been good in _Evita_?"

"Of course." Quinn said honestly, but not knowing what else to say.

"Would the recognition have happened just the same, do you think?" The look Rachel gave her was a mixture of exasperation and sadness.

"Baby, I've always believed that no matter what you do you were always going to succeed." Quinn smiled sincerely. "It could've even been some flimsy play in a theater not big enough for ten people and you would've found a way to make it end up in the Ambassador Theater."

Rachel leaned across to kiss her. Her mouth was soft and she pushed Quinn onto the floor. The piles of Rachel's belongings dug into her back, but she was too mesmerized to pull away. Instead, she endured the pain. It was worth it. Rachel slid her hand beneath her shirt, and Quinn simultaneously lifted Rachel's shirt. Rachel was warm and, strangely enough, smelled of fabric conditioner.

Rachel rolled away from the kiss. "Later."

That was enough to get Quinn's blood pumping.

Back in the box, they found piles of papers marked with tiny holes from pin-boards. There were a lot of 'to-do' lists, calendar reminders, as well as student houses, and random information Rachel found while looking at notice boards around NYADA. Quinn found tedious paperwork concerning the agreement of their first apartment, and the one they're in now. Rachel saw a cardboard tube and in it, rolled up tight, was her NYADA graduation certificate, untouched.

"Wow," she examined it with her fingertips. "I really did graduate." Her smile faded and her eyes continued to scan it, as if detecting its uniqueness. "This is real, right?"

"Yeah." Quinn was saddened at the sight, she may have felt a little guilt, she wasn't sure.

She stared at Rachel searching for an emotion, but Rachel refused to meet her gaze. Quinn could see the clenching of her jaw and tremble of her lips. Her heart seemed to go quiet. Her whole life didn't flash before her but she got a kind of edited show: Rachel's name being called, Quinn was the first to stand and cheer for her girlfriend accepting her certificate, Rachel beamed at her from the stage and at that moment Quinn had never loved her more. That's probably a lie. She's said it so many times to herself which one is true she wouldn't even know. It all seemed true.

Rachel wiped her tears and uttered, "Is—is it possible to feel as though I knew my emotions during that time? Not just the feeling of happiness, but of seeing you and my dads and whoever attended?"

"How do you know I attended?" It was a habit of hers to crack a joke when things got serious. Sometimes she didn't know when to shut up. "I'm sorry, I—"

Rachel smiled and finally raised her head up to look at Quinn. "You don't have to apologize."

Quinn felt the world was kind of a treacherous place, or that the body, at least, was a treacherous thing. The way our body works. The way the brain works. Why couldn't there be a cure for everything from cancer to depression to amnesia?

She hated moments when she didn't know what to say to Rachel. All she wanted to do was take away the pain and the best she could offer was a few reassurances and jokes that probably never worked most of the time. Once in a while, if she's very, very lucky, she'll say something profound and would feel a degree of relief and a palpable buzz of excitement at knowing she had successful made Rachel feel better.

"Rachel," she began, leaning in close. "I know—what I want to say is, it'll get easier." Why could she not be like one of those people who had the answers to everything? "I'm sorry, that was not good advice. I'm here for you and—"

"I know, Quinn." Rachel's girlish grin made her heart pound, and she leaned in to kiss Quinn's nose. "I know about your limited repertoire when it comes to emotional situations."

"I hate it."

"Emotions aren't you're strongest suit, however you're great at making me laugh, cracking inappropriate jokes, teasing me—"

"Giving you orgasms."

"I was actually going to say thinking about sex."

Quinn glanced at her, puzzled. "I only think about sex with you."

Rachel's smile widened, her brown eyes bright and Quinn felt that palpable buzz of excitement. "Should we resume down memory lane?"

In a torn paper wallet contained graduation photos, most of them were taken by Rachel herself. She took photos of her dads, her dads with Quinn, one dad with Quinn, another dad with Quinn, a few with her peers. Quinn has forgotten the names of many of Rachel's friends. Still, she was struck by the youth of their faces and also by the fact that Rachel's best friend at NYADA, Tilly Kendra annoyed her greatly.

Rachel held up a photo of herself and Tilly, making a funny face at the camera. Quinn had taken photo. "Tilly looks so young here. Funny story, Quinn, she told me today that you don't like her."

"She's alright." She answered while flicking through a sequence of photos. She held up a photo of Rachel pulling a mock-heroic face, spectacles perched at the end of her nose. "This is too cute."

"I wore glasses?"

"They're not yours, they're Tilly's."

"Oh." She placed it down and said, "Are you jealous, Quinn?"

"Of course not. I'm so much prettier. She just annoys me."

Rachel moved on and examined a photo of Quinn pulling an absurd model face, sucking in her cheekbones and pouting while Rachel wraps one arm around her neck and leaning in to kiss her cheek. Quinn told her that after the photo was taken they went to the graduation tea-party, the bar and then to a party at someone's house Tilly had told them about. The house was packed and virtually destroyed, the party spilling out onto the street. Hiding from the chaos, they had found a spot on a sofa in the living room together and stayed rooted there all evening. It was where Rachel first kissed her in front of all her graduating classmates. Quinn could swear a few hearts were broken that night. It was Rachel Berry, why wouldn't anyone want her?

Now they've come to high school, and Quinn felt embarrassed afresh by her callow high school self. In a box marked 'Glee Memories', were, well, photos of the glee kids from 2012. There were photos of Rachel at the movies with Kurt, Mercedes and Tina, others of Rachel with Santana and Brittany hanging about. A few shots of Rachel with Puck when he got her drunk at one of his wild parties. Photos of them at the beach, Rachel in her favorite yellow bikini. Photos from Prom; Quinn and Rachel dancing close, laughing, Brittany squeezing Rachel in a tight embrace, a photo of Finn staring angrily at them in the distance. Kurt as Prom King, Brittany his Queen. Digging further, she found some with Finn before the fall-out of his friendship with Rachel, mostly ones when they were dating. She swiftly tore it all in two and plunged it deep into the bin-bag.

"Quinn!"

There was a bundle of letters Quinn had written to her, labelled neatly, 'Quinn's Letters to Me', wonderfully kept in an envelope that she sometimes re-reads. They were numbered from _1_ to _36_. _1_ being the first letter Quinn had ever written to her. Rachel unfolded it and began reading silently.

Quinn pretended to flick through Robert Louis Stevenson's _A Child's Garden of Verse__. _A book she had claimed in high school to be the greatest poem ever written. Of course, now after expanding her literature, the poem has been bumped down to number seven. She looked up when she heard a gasp. "What?"

"I know that poem."

"It's a popular—"

"No, I meant, I recalled it clearly the day we settled the divorce. Your dad and my lawyer were arguing and the poem came back to me." With a soft sigh, she put it down, tears stung her eyes.

Surprised, Quinn stared at her. "Rach, why are you crying?"

"I don't know," she smiled through her tears. She was gathering herself, composing her senses. "I think everything's going to be, okay, Quinn. With us and the future and—this is the first time I've ever felt okay with losing my memories."

God was suddenly being extra-special to Quinn because she had one of those rare moments of comforting words and said, "Rachel, I love you. We're going to get through everything from today onwards. This last year has been extremely difficult and we came out stronger than ever. We fell in love all over again. How many people can say that?"

In that first microsecond Quinn could see Rachel's sadness turn into a huge smile as her brain took in the words. The paper discarded, Rachel attacked her and she fell backwards, Rachel peppered kisses on her face. God had been extra-special, let's hope he keeps it up for a while. Or even better, forever.

After a good half hour of tongue thrusting and lip biting, they continued going through the boxes, thumbing through the rest of the high school graduation photos with Quinn adding her comments from time to time. There were a lot of beaming faces from the glee kids, Santana wore half-smiles, cocky and defiant. There was a photo of the two of them hugging, Quinn's grip on Rachel was desperate, as if she were afraid to let her go. Which at the time, she had been. Examining the photo closer, Rachel looked a little plumper in the face, mouth split in a wide grin, her cheek pressed to Quinn's.

Putting them aside, Rachel picked up the pile, 'My letters to Quinn', all neatly numbered _1 _to _83_. They were all four pages or more. Rachel had always had a lot to say. She read letter number _1_ aloud.

_Dear Quinn,_

_I'm writing this letter as you sleep. Did you know that you snore? It's very adorable. I want to thank you for staying over tonight, and for restraining from teasing me relentlessly. I sometimes feel as though you keep it inside so as to not hurt me. Although I don't quite understand your sense of humor, I do laugh at them because I know you're joking._

_I read this delightful quote a few months ago. _In Greek mythology, it's said that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them apart and condemned them to spend their whole lives searching for their missing halves.

_It's become my favorite quote. I never thought such a thing was possible, or even thought of such things. Now I understand _

"Rachel," Quinn said, momentarily. "Are you really going to read all that? Its seven pages long. Can't you read it in your own time?"

Rachel glanced at her and then skimmed through the pages. "Let me just read you this."

_I thought of telling you this in person, but it's sort of embarrassing, so I'm going to tell you on paper. As you've overheard today, Tina mentioned I've always had a crush on you. Which is very true. In Freshman year our lockers were next to each other and you'd visit it in the morning, after fourth period, lunch and then when school is over. I doubt you ever noticed, but I was always there waiting for you. Cheesy, right? I can't believe I'm telling you this. Then, you know, you were on the Cheerios, popular, straight as a traffic pole, and I gave up. Tina found the calendar I made for myself of your timetable and one day I blurted it out to her that I had a crush on you. I thought she forgot about it, to be honest. And then Finn happened and you know how the story goes. _

Rachel's cheeks were red, down to her neck. Quinn wanted to say something sarcastic, but restrained from embarrassing her any further. Instead, she let her gaze travel along the angles of Rachel's face, and lingered on those long eyelashes. Then she traveled down further, catching sight of a silver sparkle in the corner of her eye. Rachel was wearing her wedding ring. It was strange to see it on her after all these months. She couldn't help but be aware of all it symbolized.

Quinn's imagination took over, thinking about the time she and Rachel went rowboat riding. Quinn paid for two weeks worth of lessons so she could take Rachel for a romantic rowboat ride. It was exciting; everything around them was aerated by salt and southerlies. Laying in the wooden boat with their feet dangling to the side, they sun-baked for hours, and when it got too hot, Rachel stripped and dived in, pulling Quinn with her. They swam circles around the boat. When they got out of the water, they dried themselves naturally, and Quinn watched—mesmerized—at the way the droplets of water dripped down Rachel's thighs. She'd trace her fingers along there too.

Later, they waited for the train in the mid-afternoon heat. Rachel reached her arms around Quinn's neck, nuzzling her face into her ear and nape, all the while kissing her lightly. Quinn's hands remained on her back and they kiss for what seemed like hours in the middle of the crowded train station, without a care in the world. They tilted their heads side to side, kissing each other; contentment in their very pulse. It was a day that burnt brighter than usual.

She reached out to trace her finger along the wedding band and Rachel glanced at her. "You're wearing the ring."

"Oh, um, yeah," she unconsciously played with the ring, twisting it on her finger. "It—it feels right."

Rachel blushed and this time, for some reason, the sight of her pink cheeks hit a sharp inner pain. Quinn thought of all those times during their separation how she tried to block out memories of Rachel—laughing, yelling at her, loving her. Without her, it felt like somebody had hacked a gaping, black hole in her life. Whenever she turned around, she kept expecting to see Rachel.

Quinn leaned across to brush Rachel's hair away from her eyes and kissed her softly on the forehead. "We could get married again, you know. I mean, we _will_ get married again."

"Will you _propose_ to me this time?"

Quinn froze. If there was a memory she'd never want Rachel to remember again, it would be this. Slowly, hardly daring to believe her ears wasn't playing a trick on her, she mumbled, "You—"

"I remembered," Rachel smiled. Quinn could sense the certainty vibrating from her. She held Quinn's gaze. "It wasn't really what I had expected. But it was very _you_."

Amusement touched Quinn's eyes. "It's a good thing we get to do everything all over again."

"A second chance."

"Uh huh." Quinn agreed, while continuing to go through Rachel's belongings. She gave a groan of amused shame when she found the CD she had first made for Rachel. She even labeled it, _This is too cheesy even for me_.

Snatching it out of her hand, Rachel read the note and placed the CD in the player, skipping straight to _Snow Patrol—Run_. Quinn had no idea why she did it, although she sensed it might have been because when Rachel had packed for NYADA, _Run_ was the last song played when Quinn called her.

"What's your favorite memory?" Rachel asked once she set herself beside Quinn again.

Quinn was flicking through the photos Rachel had taken on the mountainous hill when they drove half way to meet each other between Lima and Columbus. The first few were landscape shots, and towards the end it was of them. Quinn had even taken a photo of Rachel sleeping, her hair splayed across the grass and her mouth was slightly open. Out of the pile was a photo of them at a park on their eighth month anniversary. They sat under a tree, watching passer-bys, the greenness of the day and fed ducks. They kissed in the photo; a soft peck, both with content smiles as their lips touched.

Rachel leaned over to peer at it. "Isn't that in the photo album I have back in my room at Lima? I remember seeing it when I first came out from the hospital. You wrote something cheesy at the bottom, like, I love you but I don't just love you, I'm in—"

"Yeah, you always made extra copies." She interrupted feeling a little blush.

Thankfully, Rachel hadn't noticed. "Sounds very like me. Anyway, Quinn, you didn't answer my question."

"Oh yeah," Quinn kept flicking through the photos until she found the one she was looking for. They were sitting together on the mountainous hill, watching the sunrise, broad smiles on their faces. "This one. We drove half way to meet each other. It was a great day."

"Why?"

"Boredom, I guess." She laughed.

Rachel pushed her to the side but didn't ask any questions. "Is that it?"

Quinn scanned her eyes around the many sealed boxes and clutter of the living room. She had packed all the utensils, carefully wrapped all the plates and glasses in newspaper, sorted through all of Rachel's clothing and boxed all the DVDs and CDs and books. The hard part was now carrying the boxes to the car, unpacking them, finding space for her clothes in the new closet.

Quinn lay beside Rachel on the now uncluttered floor. In truth, she preferred the atmosphere of this apartment, a pleasant view of the city, it's neat and retains the atmosphere of their college years: the game consoles, the immense television, the ostentatious bed. But it also retained memories of the accident and the divorce, what Quinn deems _the worst year of my life_. Moving would symbolize a fresh start, a new chapter in their lives.

Rachel turned to wrap her arm around Quinn's waist, legs tangled at the ankle. Looking at Rachel, Quinn grinned into her half-lidded, sexy gaze and ignored the faint flush of embarrassment. "What do you want to do now?"

"Well, I've been thinking," Rachel's fingers stroked her stomach. "Remember in the hospital when you said you used to tie—"

"You want to do _that_?" Quinn couldn't help smiling back, or going warm as she remembered the first time they had incorporated _toys _into their sex life. It went down the same way as the first time they had sex: horrible, clumsy and awkward. It took Rachel a PowerPoint presentation and Quinn two weeks of recovery from embarrassment to finally try it again. Successfully.

Rachel shifted, rolling on top of her, mouth beside her ear. "I _really_ want you to tie me up, Quinn. Besides," she leaned back to gaze at Quinn. "Isn't it customary to have sex one last time in this apartment before we leave for good?"

"That's your reason for wanting to have sex?"

Rachel kissed her ear, and it made her shiver with a delicious anticipation. "I kind of want to tie you up, too."

She tightened her arms around Rachel as she lowered her head, her love for this woman sweeping through her, powerful and strong. Smiling, she whispered, "Let's start with you first."

"Yeah," Rachel grinned. "Be gentle with me."

Quinn was still laughing when she pulled Rachel into the bedroom.

**•••**

**May 24th, 2012**

"Quinn, it's me. _Again_. Why are you not answering my calls? Call me back!" Rachel huffed and hung up the phone.

"You know, Rachel," Leroy said from the doorway. "Some might call that stalking."

"It's not stalking if she's my girlfriend, daddy."

"Okay," he smiled a cheeky smile. "It's close to obsession."

It has been exactly one day and two hours since she has been in contact with Quinn. After six months and twenty-seven days of courtship, they have never been apart for this long. Shortly after graduation, Quinn left to visit her grandmother in Columbus and she tried not to be too dramatic about the situation. However, it failed immensely for the very next day she called everybody, like _everybody_, including second cousins, to ask why bad things always happen to good people—Quinn and I are destined to be together, so why must she be taken away from me? Although in retrospect, it seems inevitable that we would be torn apart, with college and our careers, however, I didn't expect it to happen during this time of crisis.

What's your crisis? One cousin had asked. The only person to have stayed on the phone long enough to have a conversation with her.

I have to organize my belongings for NYADA.

_Click_. She hung up.

Rude. Rachel thought. Why must everyone be so rude?

"I miss her," Rachel said, setting herself in front of an empty box ready to start packing her belongings. "Also, she was supposed to help me pack. I'm starting to think she left in order to _avoid_ helping me pack." She turned around when there was no reply only to find the doorway empty and she had been speaking to herself. No one cares about me. They'll be crying when I leave. I know it!

With nowhere to go and _no one_ to go with, her mind kept slipping back to her conversation with Quinn regarding certain resolutions about their future, and central to the scheme was that they would not live together: separate lives, separate cities, separate apartments, separate friends. They would endeavour to be together, and faithful of course, but not in any conventional ways—no Valentine's Day flowers, none of the paraphernalia of coupledom or domesticity—until after they both graduate college. It seemed appropriate.

She had imagined this arrangement to be sophisticated, modern, a new design for living showcasing their maturity. But so much effort was required to pretend that she doesn't want to share her entire life with Quinn—clothes, apartment, food, toothbrushes (actually, no, not toothbrushes)—that it's recently seemed inevitable that she will crack. She had tried to discreetly bring up the subject numerous times, in a roundabout facetious way, and Quinn has made noises such as _maybe_, _yeah_, _we'll see_ _in the future when we're a little more settled_. A little more settled would mean four years from now.

After a distracted morning of time-wasting and constantly checking her phone, she decided to finally divide her life into 'bring to NYADA' piles, 'throw away' piles, and 'keep here' piles. She decided to bring most of the collection of books Quinn had bought for her to read. Quinn always claimed Robert Louis Stevenson's _A Child's Garden of Verse_ was the greatest poetry ever written. Who was she to argue? It's a profoundly beautiful book. Quinn had found it at the markets, a turn-of-the-century copy for a dollar. _To Rachel—in the garden, the thicket, the jungle—whatever! Enjoy the book. Love, Quinn_. Rachel never understood that. Quinn's sense of humor slash sarcasm is something she has come to accept that she is to appreciate it, but never understand it.

Energized now after dividing her clothes into certain piles, she crouched in front of the shelve and quarried through the alphabetical order of DVDs and CDs that represent the last seventeen years of her life, picking out the occasional choices and stacking them in a pile on the floor. Looking through old belongings should be a pleasure, but she was surprised to find that even the sight of the covers made her feel anxious and jittery, tied up as it is with memories of making _Myspace_ videos, loneliness, paranoid nights with no friends, idiotic conversations with herself. This must be it then, she thought, this is what growing up feels like.

Then she saw the spine of a CD; Quinn's handwriting. It's a compilation CD Quinn made with her new flashy MacBook. The compilation is called, _This is too cheesy even for me_, and inside is a photograph from a month ago. In the photo, Rachel is sitting with her knees brought up to her chest on Santana's couch, her chin to her knees, she's smiling one-sidedly with her mouth closed. Quinn is leaning against her, dangling a spoon in her mouth. The photo is gawky and awkward and they look like they haven't slept in days. Technically, they hadn't slept. They had a sleepover at Santana's house—more like an endless two day party. Rachel peered at Quinn's half surprised, half annoyed expression and laughed. Santana had taken the photo when neither of them were ready. Tucked inside the case is a letter from Quinn.

_Here is it, a homemade present. Keep telling yourself_—_it's the thought that counts it's the thought that counts, and you will no doubt find me quite the romantic. This is a loving CD with none of the Broadway rubbish that you like; proper songs! Hope you enjoy this. I love you. Quinn xx_

She smiled, and put the disc in the player. It started off with _Angus & Julia Stone—Big Jet Plane_. She began to rummage through her belongings, her diaries, letters from Quinn, their scraps of youth, the process is carried out entirely dry-eyed, only the occasional light-headedness and sentimentality. She turned up the volume to _Coldplay—Til Kingdom Come_, flipping through the thick biography of the German playwright Bertolt Brecht, reading Quinn's little note at the end: _I don't understand this, but hopefully once you read it you can summarize it for me. And I mean _summarize_, Rachel. _The very first letter Quinn had ever written to her fell out from one of the pages, and it was so startling and affecting she almost dropped it to the floor.

_Rachel, I don't really know what to write. I've never written a letter before. I do have this poem I want to say to you but it's kind of embarrassing so I thought I'd write it. _It is so easy for me to love you that it frightens me. I've never been good at anything. But I've never wanted anything so much as I want to hold you every waking minute. And every night while I sleep. The question has ceased to be, "How do I love you?" and has become, "How would I ever stop?"_ I've asked myself the former question many times since that day at the riverbank. I want to love you in the best possible way, and even now I'm not sure how to do that. Then recently I've found myself asking the latter. I can't stop. It's impossible to stop loving you. And because I can't stop, I will love you the best way I can for the rest of my life. I _know_ I will love you for the rest of my life._

_Quinn xx  
>0411/2011_

And if that's not sentimental enough, _Parachute—She Is Love _(their song) blared through the speakers at exactly the right moment. She put the letter away and continued to rummage, bobbing around, head down as though she's drunk at a disco party. She began singing quite loudly, dancing around while placing an item—here and an item—there and stopping every few times to read a letter or note or examine a photograph. She suddenly had an intent feeling of contentment. More than contentment—elation. She spun around and then stepped on a book, and stumbled like a street drunk, steadying herself with one hand against the bed.

And now it's _Edward Sharpe—Home_. A song Quinn had sung to her many times and she left notes lying around in Quinn's bedroom with the quote_, Home is wherever I'm with you._ She remembered Quinn dancing to it in the living room, Quinn singing in the shower, Quinn sang it to her in bed and on the phone, sometimes she'd hum it while in the car. Through the middle of exhaustion and memories she had a sudden desire to talk to Quinn, to tell her what she's been doing and what she's listening to, and as if on cue her phone rang just as _Snow Patrol—Run_ was beginning to start. She foraged among the discarded books and photographs and jumped so high in the air at seeing Quinn's name on the display. Stay calm stay calm stay calm, she told herself. She sat on the bed.

"Hi, Quinn!"

The music was so loud she could hardly hear a word Quinn was saying and suddenly scrambled to jab at the stop button on the player.

"What are you doing with that music?"

"Listening to the CD you made me," she said, a little embarrassed. "How are you? Having fun?"

"Hardly." Quinn sighed. Rachel didn't know what it was, but she shivered. "What have you been doing?"

"I've laid out all my belongings and packed them in their appropriate boxes. My room is quite messy at the moment—" She glanced around and corrected herself, "—actually, very messy. I've danced around mumbling to myself and I fell over like a drunk on a street. A very productive afternoon if I'm being honest."

Quinn's laughter rang through the phone and for a moment, Rachel felt lonely without her. "I miss you, Quinn."

Quinn seemed to take this in because there was a short silence before she said, "Me too, baby."

For the past twenty-four hours she has done somewhat of a good job at not remembering the fact that the woman she loves is about one-hundred miles away from her. Still though, it was there, the hard fact that they were separated and will continue to be at some point in their futures.

Rachel shook the thought out of her head. "How's your grandmother? Did you say hi to her for me?"

"Yeah, I did," Quinn's voice wasn't very enthusiastic. "She said, Why would she say hi to me if she's never met me. And I just said, She's weird like that, grandma. And we laughed."

Rachel didn't laugh. "That's not a laughing matter."

"It was quite funny."

"You never pass up the opportunity to make fun of me."

"It's not too late to back out now, you know."

"Don't tempt me, Quinn." Rachel smiled, staring at a photograph of them on Quinn's bed, lips together. It was a rough and difficult kiss because Rachel couldn't stop laughing and Quinn meshed their lips together and quickly snapped the photo.

Quinn's end was very quiet and she heard Quinn click her tongue. "You love me too much."

"Unfortunately, I can't deny that."

She could picture the satisfied smile on Quinn's lips. "I got you something today."

"What is it?" She asked, noncommittally.

"I was hoping for a better reaction than that." She whispered, awed.

"What is it?!" Rachel said with a little chirp to her tone. "Happy?"

"No." Quinn grunted.

"Just tell me, Quinn."

"It's a—um, gold star pendent—"

"_Really_?"

"Why would I be lying?"

"What's the occasion?" Rachel stopped flipping through her diary and waited for Quinn's answer. Something crackled on Quinn's end of the phone, like breaking ice. The crackling came closer as though it were traveling upstairs. "Quinn?"

"I'm kind of offended that there has to be an occasion for me to buy you something. I got you all those books, didn't I?" The door closed with a screech and a click.

"What was that noise?"

"Oh, I went upstairs. The stairs crack like that."

"I never thought I would ever use the word _sentimental_ in the same sentence as your name." She joked.

"I have my moments," Quinn said with a slight giggle. "I think this is reason for you to stick around for the rest of your life."

"The rest of my life with _you_?" Rachel pretended to ponder. She lay on the floor, staring out the window. Dusk was one of her favorite times of the day; it felt as much like a beginning as sunrise, and Quinn's statement felt as much like a beginning of a promising future.

"Are you up for it, Berry?"

"I never back down from a challenge."

"Being with me is not a challenge."

"Taming you would be. You know, the wild side that's hidden in you."

She was prepared for Quinn to laugh at her, to throw a sarcastic joke in there somewhere. She thought she was prepared for whatever Quinn's response would be. But not this. "I want to try phone sex."

Rachel's eyes went wide, and her breath was coming fast. Had she somehow fallen asleep and started dreaming? She sat up, her back against the bed. "Now?"

"Yeah."

"My dads—"

"Oh, okay. Never mind."

Rachel wasn't quite sure what to make of this. This was so unlike Quinn, well, _maybe_ if she hadn't gotten to know Quinn and found out how wild she is in bed she would've thought this was unlike Quinn. Now—she can't say she's surprised. "Let me lock the door."

She stumbled towards the door, stepping on a plastic object, sharp as flint, which embedded itself painfully into her heels and she swore to herself. Quinn chuckled on the other end but instantly stopped when she realized it had escaped her lips. Then she lay under the covers on her bed. She felt a pleasant pulse beating through her and an instant ache between her legs. _God_, just thinking about doing this was enough to get her wet.

"What are you doing?" Quinn's words were smothering, and the fact that she had _breathed_ it into the phone was enough to make Rachel whimper.

"Oh God." She said, softly.

"What?"

"Do you have to talk like _that_?"

"Baby," she whispered in the same tone—no, it was worse—it _sizzled_ through the line. "What are you doing?"

"I'm under the covers." Rachel kept her free arm under her head, not wanting to touch herself because she'd most likely come instantly. "You?"

"Same." Then, "What are you wearing?"

"Shorts, and your Spongebob shirt."

"Do you want to know what I'm thinking about, Rachel?"

Quinn's _voice_ made everything course like a flowing river accumulating down south between Rachel's legs. Rachel had to close her eyes and bite on her bottom lip. "What?" It was a struggle to get one word out.

"I'm thinking about your mouth, my hands on you. _Inside_ of you." Quinn's voice was neutral, but Rachel could sense the little hitched breaths and her eagerness to touch herself.

And the thought of Quinn touching herself was enough for her to slip her hand inside the waist band of her shorts. "I _want_ you inside me, Quinn. It's been too long."

Quinn moaned softly, full of exoticness. "Touch yourself."

She shimmed out of her shorts. Rachel pictured the way Quinn smelled, the way she looked naked, the heat that would leak from her lips and tongue. "How wet are you for me?" She asked.

"Very," Quinn answered, extremely quiet. "I miss the way you taste."

"When you come back we _really_ need a Plan B."

"Uh huh," her response was short, as though it was the last thing on her mind. She swallowed audibly and there was a tiny whimper. "Two fingers, Rachel, go slow. The way you like _me_ to do it."

"You know how much I enjoy it when you go fast, Quinn."

Rachel heard the clenching of Quinn's teeth. "You've always liked it hard _and_ fast."

"_Oh God_." Her fingers began to pick up pace, and she shifted her hips and dug her heels into the bed. "Baby, tell me what you're doing."

Quinn let out a soft whimper and Rachel felt it tingling down her spine like a tickle sensation. "I'm—using two fingers—thinking about you biting down on my neck, how wet you are, the way you move on top—of me."

All Rachel can think of is Quinn's tongue where her fingers should be, the way Quinn looked at her with such burning desire when she's between her legs, and Rachel can just stare at those eyes, never wanting to break contact. Rachel spread her legs imperceptibly wider, stroking her inner thighs and then resuming her pace.

Quinn's breath began to hitch again, and her gasps turned to whimpers turning into moans and there's movement on Quinn's end signalling her shakiness. "Rachel, I'm close—"

"Me too—"

Rachel continued her strokes, moving to the sound of Quinn's rapid breaths. She could _feel_ Quinn starting to come; all the sounds Quinn makes that are so uniquely her own and she heard the cry that escaped from deep within her throat and the way she let out _Rachel _before everything was uncoordinated and she sighed in contentment. With Quinn's heavy breaths beside her ear, it only took a few more strokes, and Quinn's, _Come for me, Rachel_, before she was brought over the edge and her body burst in the nicest expulsion she's experienced in a long time.

The absence of sound was made more evident by Quinn's breathing and the thudding of her own heart.

She woke with a start and looked at the time. 8:34 p.m. She had slept for three hours, clearly impossible, but when she opened the curtains the stars were distant and the bright moon was cloudless in the sky. She could feel her thigh muscles contracting and it was sort of painful to walk, she was parched and hungrier than she had ever been before. The glass of water, when she reached for it was warm. She drank half of it, then recoiled—a wingless fly had found its way into the glass and buzzed against her lips. She dropped the glass, spilling it on her shirt and onto the bed, and then she noticed her phone, remembering she hadn't hung up on Quinn.

"Quinn?"

"Hey, you're awake." She said casually, munching on something that sounded like an apple.

Rachel couldn't keep the surprise from her voice as she said, "How long have you been awake?"

"Awhile." Quinn swallowed. "Your dads knocked on the door an hour ago. I can't believe you slept through it. Must have been some orgasm you had there." Quinn said it like she was teasing, but Rachel could hear the _real_ message: What were you thinking about that made you come so hard?

She cleared her throat as a response and Quinn laughed. Downstairs she could hear pots and pans, the babbled noise of the television, family sounds. She went to splash water on her face and fixed her hair, it was mussed in every which way. Quinn wasn't here to have caused it, but somehow Quinn was _still_ able to cause it without touching her.

She headed downstairs, counting on the momentum to hold her together, but her dads were in the lounge room watching the television, or pretending to. It's as if they have been waiting for her, a sentry on duty, the arresting officers.

"I fell asleep," she said. "Say hi to Quinn." She held the phone in the air.

"Hi, Quinn." They said simultaneously with a bored wave.

"Not very enthusiastic," Rachel mumbled. The documentary they're watching was about a trout. "Quinn said she isn't going to respond until you're both a little more enthusiastic."

"Hey, I did not say that!" Quinn yelled.

"Hi, Quinn!" It was louder but still lacked the enthusiasm.

Rachel rolled her eyes, and said in a high-pitched, "I thought parents were supposed to be interested in their child's life?"

She hadn't meant to say it to Quinn, but she replied anyway, "I think they're supressing their excitement that you're finally leaving."

"Tell me why I'm dating you again?" The large kitchen was so clean that when she turned on the lights she had to adjust her eyes to the brightness. She crossed to the fridge and was shocked to see it was almost empty.

Quinn was silent for a moment, grabbed something and bit into it. It sounded like another apple. "Because you love me." As though that was the most obvious reason to be with someone.

In the fridge, the wilted celery heart, a chicken carcass, opened cans and economy ham all indicate that her dad Hiram, had taken over the domestic duties for the week. "Hold on, baby." Rachel said and then she yelled out, "There's nothing to eat!"

"We ate it all!" Leroy said.

"What am I supposed to eat?"

"We tried to wake you up!"

Rachel stomped into the lounge room, one hand on her hip, the other dangling on the side holding the phone. "This is uncalled for, fathers. I am going through adolescent and need proper nutrients, which as parents, is your duty to provide. Until I live on my own, of course."

"Which cannot be soon enough." Hiram said and laughed at the frown on Rachel's face. "I'm only joking." He added, "There's fruit and crackers."

Rachel went back into the kitchen, frustrated. She got a bowl and had cereal for dinner, sitting at the table and munching loudly with Quinn in her ear. Quinn told her about her day, something they had skipped earlier, choosing to explore the next step in their relationship instead. And now with the possibility of that not happening again tonight, Quinn talked and she listened. Rachel had to admit that sometimes she didn't listen to Quinn very often. It was wrong on her part, of course, but Quinn did the same thing so why couldn't she? Right now, she thought about what it would be like to be famous. She didn't want to be famous; successful is a better word, and then she thought, what was the point in being successful in private? People should know. Fame would be an extension of being popular in high school. Not that she knew what being popular in high school meant, it would be an experience and one she could write as part of her biography.

Rachel made sounds of acknowledgement while Quinn continued to talk. She said something about having went to the beach and saw jellyfish and something something. She washed her bowl, grabbed a bottle of water, said good night to her dads and went to her room. Turning on her computer, she browsed through her dashboard on tumblr, occasionally answering questions. Being tumblr famous is the closest experience she has to _being_ famous. It was thrilling, having _followers_, it was like having friends from around the world, they don't judge you for whatever you post and sometimes even _liked_ some things.

Santana was online; she posted a photo of Lord Tubbington, something she often did for Brittany because Brittany had a difficult time understanding tumblr. Puck was too, he made a text post saying: _man that was a good fuck_. Santana commented saying: _she probably only slept with you cause she felt sorry for you_. She went into Quinn's blog and the last thing Quinn had posted was two months ago. It was an image of Lea Michele, and Rachel was reminded once again of their first conversations together, how easy it was talking to Quinn, to joke with her and be _herself_. They fell into each other's lives without any other preliminaries.

"Quinn," Rachel said quietly, plugging the charger into her phone. "Do you ever think about what it would've been like if you never replied to my message on tumblr?"

"This first ever one?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes," she answered in a relaxed tone. "Sometimes I think about it and don't even know how it was so easy to talk to you."

"I think it's the power that you don't know who you're talking to, and they don't know you, so they're unable to judge."

Quinn said a soft, "Probably," and added, "What do you think would've happened if we never talked?"

"I don't know," she said honestly, her mouse scrolling through Quinn's blog. "I'm sure we would've come together another way. Maybe not so soon. Could be in college."

"Everything happened the way it was supposed to."

"Yeah." Rachel went into her messages, laughing whilst reading their conversation. "I can't believe how ridiculous we were. Kidnapping Lea and Dianna."

"It was your idea!" Quinn scooted out a chair and sat down. "I can't believe you lied to me about who you were."

"Oh, Quinn, don't pout." She smiled.

"Why didn't you leave when you found out it was me?"

"It was a side to you I had never witnessed before." She said. "I was intrigued. A part of me didn't want to believe it was you."

"When did you realize you liked me?"

"_Like_ you, _like _you?"

Rachel heard the typing of a keyboard from Quinn's end of the line, and she said, "Uh huh. Romantic feelings."

Rachel burst out laughing for about ten seconds, caught her breath and said, "You made this funny text post saying, _Please be gay_."

"That was the moment?" Quinn asked, skeptically. "Out of _every one_ you could—"

"That's it, Quinn," Rachel insisted. "That's the moment."

"Did you know it was me?"

"Nope. We were talking for a week."

"Oh, well, I was referring to you."

"I figured."

"Gross, Puck's on tumblr. You'd think that seeing naked women in real life would be enough, he has to post naked women."

"What about you?"

Quinn sighed, taking in a deep breath. She almost sung out the words, "Your 'about me' said, I'm very dramatic and I do not apologize for it. It's a talented skill and only about one in a million individuals possess it. Therefore, I am one of the one millionth special people on this planet_._"

Rachel wanted to cry in delight, her heart ached in the best possible way. "Honestly, Quinn, I cannot fathom how you didn't know it was me."

"I ask myself the same question."

They spent the next hour reminiscing about the past six months and how much it's changed. It was delightful and joy filled her senses, her feelings were spiraling up, carrying her higher and higher. Yet, she felt incredibly exposed. Talking about all these emotions allowed Quinn to have a glimpse into everything she was feeling. She thought that if we only lived once, then she had loved, loved deeply and have been overcome by love. All thanks to Quinn Fabray. She couldn't believe it was only six months.

The night drifted on and the summer breeze was cool on her skin. They watched the ten o'clock news together and Quinn always had something to say. I could never work at a gas station, too many robberies. How is a story about a man suing the clothing store known as 'news'? I sometimes think society is running out of stories. How come we never hear anything about Canada? Is it the forgotten country? Or is it because it's overshadowed by America and no one seems to care for its existence? Why does Justin Beiber where his pants like that? I don't see the appeal. Then afterward, they did the crossword together and Quinn occasionally read her clues. They gave up after five minutes because they couldn't stop arguing.

At eleven, Alfred Hitchcock's _The Birds_ came on. Rachel thought the cars were cool and it was kind of creepy. Quinn didn't like dealing with ad breaks, so whenever there was an advertisement she'd say something like, Rachel, you should take your clothes off for me to pass the time. Rachel, I really, really want to see you naked, and so on. Basically comments about Rachel being naked, and as soon as the movie resumed she'd act as though nothing happened.

When the movie finished, Quinn read Rachel a book called _The Unbearable Lightness of Being_. She was really sleepy by now and was drifting into restless five-minute fragments of sleep. They both wanted to continue this trend, and Quinn suggested coffee. Rachel had never drunk black coffee before. It seemed to work. It bought her to a bearable state of consciousness at one in the morning.

They were drunk but it was not so much the surplus of alcohol as the absence of one another that was beginning to invade their minds. They were drunk on loneliness.

"Did you enjoy it?" Quinn asked.

"What?"

"Phone sex."

"Oh. Of course. It was—liberating."

"Liberating?" Quinn dropped the phone and it thudded loudly on the wooden floor. "That's not the word I would've used."

"It was a freeing sensation."

"You're so weird."

At one point, they were both completely silent for an hour with nothing to talk about. This worked as a sign for her: a potent of love not because of silence itself but because that silence went through her heart before it registered anywhere else. Hearing Quinn's breaths was soothing, and it was enough to know Quinn loved her without having to say anything else.

By three a.m., they were really bored. The coffee had made them jittery and neither had anything left to say to each other except the occasional, Are you still awake. _Yeah_. Do you want to sleep. _No._ Okay then. There was nothing on television, except infomercials (which Quinn despised) and soft rock music videos (which Rachel despised), and they weren't able to watch DVDs as they didn't have the same collection. Rachel had suggested Quinn listen to her watch a movie through the phone, which proved a bad idea and led to another argument, and they settled on the tennis live from somewhere around the world. There was something comforting about its hypnotic blandness. It seemed to pass the time, though it wasn't something she would watch under any other circumstance.

When four a.m. struck, Quinn said, "I can't remember the last time we were on the phone for this long."

"Me either," Rachel yawned and stretched in the process. "I think I'm going to change my bed sheets."

"Why? What'd you do?"

"To stay awake."

"You're full of great ideas at four in the morning."

"Do you have any ideas, Quinn?" Rachel crossed over to her closet and pulled out some new sheets.

"We could—you know..."

She halted her movements. It _would_ be a good idea and she really wanted to hear Quinn moan like that again. Except—"If we do I'll most likely fall asleep right away."

"Yeah, me too," Quinn's voice was mumbled. "You're really changing your bed sheets?"

"I don't have anything else to do."

"Come and see me," she blurted and quickly said, "Oh my God, Rachel, why didn't I think of this sooner."

"Quinn, I can't—"

"We'll meet half way," Quinn interrupted, excitement in her tone. Rachel could hear her getting dressed. "I'm serious, baby. It'll only be about half an hour. And we'll come back before anyone finds out."

In the face of loneliness, it was extremely easy to be excited. She felt a rush of blood to the head.

After the first rush of exhilaration passed, she asked herself, how am I going to get to Quinn? She sat on the bed staring at the wall. She had to be stealthy, the stealthiest she's ever been, like a cat burglar. Should she wear black to camouflage herself in the dark? Next, the car. She had to _roll_ the car into the street before starting it. What she hates about this time of the night is that you can hear _everything_. Even a pin drop.

Now that they decided to meet, all the despair disappeared and the night took on an edge of frantic desperation, even enthusiasm. She jumped out of bed and got dressed, and ran her fingers through her hair to make it neat. On the other end, Quinn was scrambling around, the bedroom door screeched opened, footsteps descending downstairs, keys dangling and the click of the front door.

"Okay, Rach, I'm out." Quinn had it easy. She had a hearing impaired grandmother.

Rachel grabbed her make-up, deciding to put it on in the car. She sneaked downstairs ever so quietly, she didn't even dare to breathe. She grabbed the keys by the front door, and once she was out she breathed a sigh of relief. Putting the key in the ignition, she turned it once, then slowly rolled the car onto the street two houses down before getting in.

"I'm ready." She said. "You're a bad influence."

Quinn only chuckled and started the car.

Rachel was mainly distracted while driving, but it was a thrilling distraction, a promise. They drove in silence as their cars plunged into darkness with Quinn giving her the occasional directions. Rachel took this moment to think about her time with Quinn. Those first days with her, their compulsion and wild tenderness, her worries about fate and whether this relationship would last. Everything tumbled over her with the force of revelation: she would stand somewhere and look back one day and realize that she had lived a life—not just existed, but _lived_. Until this moment she had never truly believed it.

"Rachel, are you turning off the highway?"

"Yeah." She yawned again. "I'm sleepy."

"Me too."

"I hope we don't crash into one another's cars."

"At least we'll die together."

"Very climatic." Rachel said, looking out at the mountainous land.

She followed the wisp road onto another smaller road. It was so dark, the sky was so clear. In the heavy darkness she wove the car among tawny, feline hills. Olive trees ornamented the land, flashing silver. The world's resilience impressed her, its ability to proceed unhindered, despite her own lapse in attention. What was it that made the world continue? Her head was still whirling from excitement and the rush of blood.

"I think I see your car." Quinn said.

Rachel's mind felt ready to burst from the small container of her head. She squinted and in the distance, Quinn flicked her headlights: off, on; bright, off, bright. Rachel maneuvered the car to the side, mimicking Quinn's movements. They were atop a mountain, heavy with the scent of eucalyptus. She could hear the ocean muttering and making a distant train sound a long way off.

When she got out of the car, Rachel said, "I guess we should hang up now."

Quinn was smiling broadly, mirthfully, and Rachel too, felt a plume of laughter rising in her chest, and then she ran straight to Quinn, basically in a tackle hug, leaping up so that Quinn could catch her.

"Whoa!" Quinn's arms circled her back so tightly that her feet dangled above the floor. Rachel held her neck and grinned. "I missed you."

She turned her head and kissed Quinn lightly. Then when Quinn settled her down, Rachel took her face in her hands and kissed her again, deeper this time. She kept kissing Quinn harder and faster, until her own breath started to catch in her throat and they stumbled backward until Quinn's back hit the car. That warm tide of feeling inside her started to flow again.

When they pulled apart, Quinn reached for her hand and they walked through the trees, the sound of crunchy leaves beneath their feet, coming to a stop on the edge of the mountain. Scattered across the landscape were native flowers in bloom, bizarre and enormous like giant, bright-pink cauliflowers. At exactly the moment Rachel registered the ocean in the distance, the first splats of rain began to hit her arm.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"I've never seen anything like it." Rachel said with complete honesty, although the woman she was staring at was far more beautiful.

Quinn smiled at her, shooting sparkles into her heart. "So this was spontaneous."

"Do you think we could be known as the 'spontaneous' couple?"

"Probably. But I'll get all the credit."

Rachel held back her surprise at Quinn's unexpected confidence. There were so many shades to Quinn, and the thought of spending the rest of her life discovering each one left her completely satisfied.

They spent the early morning on the edge of the mountain talking and laughing, offering up information which have already been offered. It was a repeat of the last few hours. In no particular order the topics included, phone sex, friends, tumblr, the last six months of their romance, their activities in the past twenty-four hours. And Rachel took photos of the landscape, before handing Quinn the camera so they could take photos together. Quinn had longer arms, it made more sense. Somewhere in the middle, they both fell asleep, lying chastely in parallel until Quinn woke with a start at six. The moon was gone and the sun grew smaller as it climbed and the morning began to take on color.

As they stumbled to their feet, Rachel began to feel regret creeping up on her, and realized there was one topic they had yet to discuss upon. "Quinn, about college—"

"Rach, dance with me." Quinn said. Rachel didn't look away from her, the pupils in her hazel eyes were wide and dark—sharply observant.

Quinn drew her close and Rachel laid one hand her shoulder, Quinn took her right hand with her left, Quinn's other hand slid around her waist. Rachel's fingers itched to peel off Quinn's clothing, one slow inch at a time, freeing the spicy scent of her. She shifted uncomfortably in Quinn's arms, trying to control her animal instinct.

"We don't have any music." She said, a wistful note in her voice.

"Who needs it?" Quinn leaned forward slightly, and as Rachel instinctively took a step back, Quinn murmured, "Boom-tick-tick... boom-tick-tick-and-lean."

Rachel laughed, moving gracefully with Quinn through the basic box step, following the subtle, guiding pressure of Quinn's fingers against her back. "Boom-tick-tick?"

"It's easy to remember."

She joined her voice with Quinn's in a singsong _boom-tick-tick_ rhythm that carried them around the edge, until she could no longer resist temptation and tightened her fingers around Quinn's arms. At once, Quinn's muscles tensed, and her smooth steps faltered. Their eyes met a split second before Quinn smoothly spun her around. Quinn tipped her back in a 'dip' motion, her arm supporting Rachel, and bending so close that the fractions of their mouths were an inch away from each other's.

"Quinn," she said softly.

Quinn stopped, but didn't release her. "The future's scary, yes, but we're going to get through whatever trials come our way."

"How can you be so sure?" Rachel asked, her voice low, a shade cautious.

Quinn opened her mouth, to ask whatever question she wanted, but a sudden smoothness closed over her face and she said, "I'm going to marry you, Rachel. Even if it doesn't happen in a year, or five years, it's going to happen. So no matter what, we'll find our way back to each other. And that thought is what's keeping me sane through all this."

Silence blanketed around them, except for the sound of birds and the flow of the ocean. Quinn's eyes have moved into a greenness beyond desire. There was only the two of the on the mountain flying in the euphoric air, suspended above ordinary affairs and distant from the crawling lights of vehicles on the plain below. Physicists talk about the space-time foam, in which time does not move forward as elsewhere in the universe. This was the moment for her—infinitely compressed, infinitely brief, infinitely extended, _infinite_. And in such a state of abstraction she felt connected for an instant to the world. She felt they'd begun a new chapter in their lives.

They walked back hand in hand to the car and Rachel kicked the gravel footpath and scratched her head before saying, "Um, okay, I'll see you soon?"

Quinn laughed, her whole body shook. "You're acting like I'm never going to see you again."

"It feels like it."

"Rach, I'm coming back tonight." Quinn kissed her, not once, but half a dozen times, each kiss frantic and tasting like longing and loneliness and love. Rachel kissed her back, gulping in breaths every time their lips parted.

"Let's promise each other, right now," Rachel began. "No matter what happens, we'll always find our way back."

Quinn smiled and ran a thumb across her cheek. "I promise. No matter what happens."

"Even if I get into a car accident and lose my memories."

Quinn rolled her eyes at the scenario. "That's—"

"It's not ridiculous. It could happen."

"And what does that have to do with me?" Quinn held out her hand, palm upwards, and Rachel took it.

"Well, Quinn, you're a bit crazy. You might get frustrated and leave me." Rachel started rubbing the knuckle of Quinn's forefinger with her thumb.

At those words, Quinn's smile faded and Rachel studied her pretty face. There wasn't a lot of emotion in it. Quinn raised her brow and squeezed her hand sympathetically. "I'll find my way back to you. But if you're the one who's lost the memories, wouldn't _you_ leave _me_?"

A little unnerving, a faint smile tipped Rachel's mouth. "I'll find my way back to you."

"Wouldn't you lose _this_ memory? How would you remember you made this promise to me?"

Rachel gave her a dark look, and with a long sigh, said, "Have some faith, Quinn."

"Alright," Quinn said, biting her bottom lip. "You have to promise to remember us, and come back to me."

Rachel smiled a half-smile, acting like a bedazzled little girl. She threw her arms around Quinn's neck and kissed her. It was a long, passionate kiss. Quinn's embrace on her tightened and Rachel felt the tingling sensation and pressed their bodies closer. She stopped the kiss a moment later, not stepping away from Quinn and said, "I promise. Even if I don't remember everything about us, I'll fall in love with you all over again."

"Good," Quinn kissed her cheek, then leaned down to bite her ear. "If you don't I'll kidnap you."

"That's very mature of you."

They stood blissfully in each other's arms and only pulled away when a car horn beeped at them as it drove by. Rachel whispered, "Tell me you love me."

"I love you _a lot_." Her lips were an inch away from Rachel's.

"I _really_ love you."

"They mean the same thing, Rach."

"Okay then. I really, _really_ love you."

This is where it all begins. Everything starts here, today.

These are the promises they'll never forget.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm going to leave this as complete because I'm still kind of on the fence about the epilogue. Yes or no? <strong>

**Anyway, thank you so much for reading this story and for sticking around even when I had that moment of writer's block. This has been heaps of fun to write despite all the angst!**


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